SHK&KAft 

BH 


GYP 

THE  COUNTESS  DE   MARTEL-JANVILLE. 


CHIFFON'S   MARRIAGE 


BY 

GYP 


{Translated  from  tbe  jfrencb 

PY 

MRS.  EDWARD   LEES   COFFEY 


$>by//e  (_ 

/N    /     -    :  J 
S 


NEW   YORK 

HURST  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1895, 
BY 

HURST  &  COMPANY. 


tro 

MADAME   MAURICE   BARRED 

THIS  WORK 
13 

AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED 

BY 

GYP. 


2136896 


CHIFFON'S    MARRIAGE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  WIFE  of  an  officer !  What  an  occupation? 
I  would  rather  be  an  orderly  in  a  Lyceum  1" 

The  Marchioness  de  Bray  shrugged  her 
shoulders :  "  When  you  know  what  officer  is 
in  question " 

"Though  it  should  be  M.  de  Trene,  that 
every  one  thinks  so  distinguished,  I  would 
not  think  of  it." 

"  You  would  not  wish  it,  indeed !  You 
have  no  right  to  be  so  hard  to  please,  for " 

"'Your  father  has  left  only  debts  and  you 
have  not  a  cent.'  Ah!  I  am  accustomed  to 
this  from  you,  you  say  it  so  often  I  can  never 
forget  it." 

"  Well,  then?" 

"Very  well;   even  though  I  have  not  A 
cent,  I  will  never  marry  without  love." 
5 


6  Cbfffon'0  dBarrtage. 

M.  de  Bray  said  with  some  timidity: 
"  Without  being  rich  you  have  some  expecta- 
tions— probably  a  fortune." 

"  A  fortune?"  the  child  repeated  with  as- 
tonishment-—'^ fortune  that  you  may  give 
me?" 

Her  soft  gray  eyes  under  long,  thick  brown 
lashes  rested  affectionately  upon  her  step- 
father. 

Mme.  de  Bray  said  angrily :  "  It  is  useless 
to  teach  her  what  she  need  not  know ;  it  will 
only  make  her  more  difficult  to  please." 

"  How  difficult?"  Coryse  answered  with  in- 
dignation; "difficult  in  what?  I  was  only 
sixteen  a  few  months  ago,  and  no  one  has 
asked  me  in  marriage  that  I  know  of." 

"  If  some  one  should  ask  you — and  you  re- 
fuse before  knowing  who?" 

"I  don't  wish  to  marry  an  officer,  never! 
I  see  the  officers'  wives  here ;  there  are  plenty 
of  them  in  the  four  regiments.  I  would  not 
be  in  their  place  for  anything.  I  am  not  like 
them — not  polite  enough.  I  know  that  if 
my  colonel  had  a  wife  like  Mme.  de  Bassigny 
for  example,  I  would  not  visit  her,  nothing 
would  induce  me  I"  Looking  toward  the  end 


Cbfffon's  fl&arrfage*  7 

of  the  room  to  find  an  ally,  she  said:  *  Am  I 
not  right,  Uncle  Marc?" 

Without  giving:  him  time  to  reply,  Mme. 
de  Bray  said:  "That  is  not  your  uncle's 
affair.  Will  you  listen  to  me  an  instant?" 
In  solemn  tones  she  said :  "  The  Duke  d'Au- 
bieres  has  asked  you  in  marriage." 

She  stopped  a  moment  to  see  the  effect 
upon  her  daughter.  The  little  baby  face 
seemed  stupefied  Mme.  de  Bray  understood 
this  expression  to  be  joy,  and  with  a  trium- 
phant air  asked  her  decision. 

"  Why,  I  am  only  a  child !"  and  without 
seeming  to  notice  her  mother's  anger  she  said : 
"  Yes!  he  is  at  least  forty, — he  must  be  as  he 
is  colonel ;  he  is  ugly,  and  they  say  has  very 
little  money." 

The  marchioness,  looking  scornfully  at  her 
daughter,  said :  "  This  is  enough.  She  wishes 
a  fortune  also !" 

Leaning  her  blonde  head  forward,  Coryse 
answered :  "  Oh  no !  the  money  is  nothing,  as 
I  am  not  to  be  duke — duchess,  I  would  say. 
It  is  ridiculous,  a  big  title  and  small  fortune. 
If  I  had  been  born  rich  I  would  not  hide  it 
though  it  would  bore  me,  and  I  would  bear 


•  Cbfffon's  flbarrfagc. 

tny  title,  as  it  would"  not  be  my  fault  It  is 
not  for  this  reason  that  I  now  say  no;  it  is 
principally  on  account  of  the  man.'* 

"  But  you  have  said  a  hundred  times  that 
the  Duke  d'Aubieres  was  charming,  and  that 
you  liked  him  so  much." 

"  Certainly,  I  like  him  very  much!  but  not 
to  marry  him.  First,  he  is  old,  and  to  spend 
a  life  with  him  would  indeed  be  funny." 

The  marchioness,  looking  angrily  at  her 
husband,  said:  "One  does  not  marry  to  be 
funny." 

"  Well,  I  will  marry  in  my  own  way." 

"  Why,  this  child  is  crazy !  I  had  better  go 
away ;"  rising  to  go  in  a  way  she  thought  very 
noble,  but  really  ridiculous,  the  marchioness 
left  the  room  with  long  strides. 

When  the  door  was  shut  with  a  great  noise, 
M.  de  Bray  said  quietly :  "  You  are  wrong, 
my  little  Coryse." 

Coryse  was  calmed  by  her  mother's  noisy 
exit  and  threw  herself  in  a  big  old  chair  cov- 
ered with  faded  silk  in  which  she  almost  dis- 
appeared. Looking  up  she  said : 

"Why  do  you  call  me  Coryse?  Why  not 
Chiffon?  You,  too,  are  angry  with  me." 


Cbfffon's  fliarrtage.  9 

*  No,  I  am  not  angry,  but " 

"If  you  are  angry  I  see  the  reason,  and 
what  will  you  say  if  I  am  short  with  you?" 

"  Oh,  nothing.  I  will  say  no  more,  I  know 
you  will  say  you  are  wrong." 

"  Wrong  about  what?" 

"  To  discuss  matters  in  this  way  with  your 
mother." 

"  Why  should  they  marry  me  without  my 
consent? — without  defending  myself?" 

"  I  did  not  say  that." 

"  Then  what  did  you  say?" 

"  You  can  discuss,  but  in  a  different  tone. 
Your  language  exasperates  your  mother." 

"  Yes !    I  know  it;  she  loves  a  noble  style !" 

All  the  tenderness  and  beauty  disappeared 
from  her  eyes,  and  she  said  in  harsh  tones: 
"  She  is  so  distinguished — she !" 

M.  de  Bray  answered  sadly:  "You  give 
me  much  anxiety,  Coryse." 

"  Oh,  papa,  I  would  not  give  you  pain  for 
the  world !  I  love  you  so  much  I" 

"  I  too  love  you !" 

"  Then  why  do  you  wish  to  send  me  away 
and  marry  me  at  any  risk?" 

"  But  I  do  not  wish  this." 


10  Cbfffon's  /Carriage, 

"You  know  that  I  am  only  sixteen  and  a 
half  years  old ;  let  me  beg  you  to  allow  me 
to  live  here  a  while  longer" — counting  on  her 
fingers — "for  five  years,  not  quite  five,  and 
then  I  will  go,  I  promise  you." 

The  soft  gray  eyes  were  troubled,  and  big 
tears  like  glass  beads  fell  on  her  fresh  cheeks. 

Corysande  d'Avesnes,  whom  they  called 
Coryse,  or  generally  Chiffon,  was  a  young  girl 
robust  in  figure,  but  baby-like  and  with  many 
of  the  angularities  of  childhood — a  clear  skin 
full  of  rose-light.  Her  movements  were  easy 
though  not  always  graceful,  like  a  young  dog. 

Mme.  de  Bray  was  full  of  vanity,  looking 
down  upon  many  she  met  socially  as  inferior 
beings.  She  assumed  always  a  scornful  air 
to  those  around  her.  The  Count  d'Avesnes 
had  the  cleverness  to  die  in  two  years,  and 
thus  escaped  an  almost  impossible  existence 
at  home.  His  wife  was  left  without  fortune 
and  went  with  her  child  to  the  house  of  an 
uncle  and  aunt,  who  adored  Coryse  and  took 
care  of  her  until  the  second  marriage  of  her 
mother.  Madame  d'Avesnes  was  rarely  at 
home;  she  travelled  constantly,  visiting 
friends  or  in  Paris. 


Cbfffon's  fl&arriage.  11 

It  was  on  one  of  these  visits  to  Pont-sur- 
Garthe  that  she  met  M.  de  Bray.  He  was 
wealthy  and  charming:  she  had  become  a 
little  fassee  and  knew  that  her  beauty  was 
going.  She  was  therefore  rfsigned  to  reign 
at  Pont-sur-Sarthe,  as  she  could  not  shine 
elsewhere,  and  she  married  M.  de  Bray,  de- 
claring that  it  was  from  devotion  to  her  child 
and  to  assure  her  future. 

Then  began  for  the  poor  husband  this  un- 
comfortable existence,  made  up  of  reproaches 
and  silences — painful  scenes  which  his  prede- 
cessor had  suffered  and  also  the  Uncle  and 
Aunt  de  Launay,  who  bore  it  all  for  love 
of  their  little  Chiffon,  whom  they  feared  to 
lose. 

It  was  for  her  daughter  that  Mme.  de  Bray 
reserved  her  worst  bickerings.  The  nature 
of  the  child  was  contrary  to  her  own  ideas, 
narrow  from  one '  point  of  view  and  large 
from  another.  Prepossessed  with  a  love  for 
the  nobility,  and  money  too,  since  she  got  it,, 
and  loving  above  all  display,  she  could  not 
pardon  the  simplicity  of  her  daughter,  and 
her  straightforwardness  was  an  enigma. 
Being  of  no  certain  type,  she  tried  to  create 


12  Cbfffcm's  dbarrfage. 

one ;  she  learned  to  speak  from  the  theatres 
and  to  think  from  novels ;  having  at  bottom 
no  really  fine  thoughts,  she  applied  badly  the 
borrowed  ones.  When  for  example  she 
wished  to  be  t*agic,  she  was  so  ridiculous 
that  Chiffon  could  not  suppress  screams  of 
laughter. 

Although  her  own  appearance  was  rather 
vulgar,  yet  she  constantly  reproached  her 
daughter  that  she  had  not  even  the  distinc- 
tion of  the  d'Avesnes. 

When  Coryse  began  to  cry,  M.  de  Bray  was 
completely  overcome  and  tried  his  best  to 
comfort  her:  "Come,  my  little  Chiffon,  be 
reasonable,  it  will  all  be  right." 

She  replied  by  shaking  her  head  with  dis- 
couragement. 

"  That  will  be  arranged,  I  suppose,  by 
marrying  M.  d'Aubieres.  I  could  not  do  bet- 
ter, if  I  did  not  feel  that  in  marrying  him  I 
would  be  doing  a  very  wrong  thing  and  mak- 
ing him  unhappy.  But  for  this  I  would  let 
them  be  rid  of  me  at  once." 

*  It  is  wrong  of  you  to  say  that  to  me !" 

"  It  is  not  for  you  that  I  say  it,  and  you 
fcnow  it" 


Cbitton's  dfcarriaae.  18 


*  But  your  mother  is  not  more  anxious  for 
you  to  go  than  I  am." 

"  Ah,  you  know  differently.  She  is  dread- 
fully afraid  that  I  will  not  marry,  and  above 
all  make  a  fine  match  ;  not  for  my  happi- 
ness —  that  is  nothing;  but  to  satisfy  her 
own  vanity,  to  excite  the  jealousy  of  all 
the  people  in  Pont-sur-Sarthe,  for  nothing 
else." 

"  I  am  distressed  to  hear  you  talk  so  of  your 
mother." 

"  I  cannot  restrain  the  impulse,  I  must  say 
what  I  think  !" 

"  Exactly,  but  you  should  not  think  in  this 
way." 

"  How  can  I  help  this?  Do  you  think  she 
really  loves  me?  Before  you  came  to  this 
house  she  scolded  me  all  the  while,  or  ac- 
cused others  of  spoiling  me.  But  for  you 
and  Uncle  and  Aunt  de  Launay,  I  would  hs.ve 
had  no  one  to  care  for  me  !  Twice  a  year  she 
kissed  me,  when  she  went  away  and  came 
back,  and  this  was  done  at  the  door  for  the 
benefit  of  the  servants  —  'O  my  Corysandel 
my  beloved  child!'  —  a  little  melodrama  for 
outsiders."  Then  with  a.  little  laugh  she 


14  CbtfFon'0  Carriage. 

added:  "You  know  that  she  has  always 
lacked  simplicity." 

"  You  exaggerate  her  defects." 

"You  should  not  say  so,  you  who  are  so 
natural  and  simple." 

"  It  pleases  you  to  thwart  your  mamma  in 
'little  things " 

" '  Your  mamma !'  Take  care,  she  may  hear 
you." 

As  M.  de  Bray  looked  toward  the  door,  she 
said: 

"  You  are  afraid !"  and  with  a  solemn  voice, 
"to  have  forgotten  that  mamma  is  a  good 
name  for  common  people,  for  the  concierge ; 
the  well-bred  speak  differently." 

"  Since  your  mother  has  the  little  weakness 
of  making  this  an  important  matter,  why  not 
gratify  her?" 

"  I  do  nothing  else.  In-speaking  to  her  I 
never  call  her  mamma,  but  in  speaking  of  her 
I  always  say  my  mother;  a  mouth  full  but 
heart  empty.  Ah !  it  is  not  my  fault !  I  have 
tried  since  you  replaced  my  poor  papa,  and 
you  have  been  so  good  and  kind  to  the  ugly 
little  girl  who  did  not  want  to  see  you — I 
have  loved  you  so  dearly  since  I  knew  you 


Cbiffon'0  flbarrfage,  15 

that  to  give  you  pleasure  I  have  tried  to  love 
your  wife,  but  this  is  impossible !" 

"  This  speech  is  abominable !" 

"  Why !  I  am  attached  to  her  in  a  certain 
way.  I  would  be  distressed  if  anything  hap- 
pened to  her,  and  I  only  wish  her  happiness; 
but  when  I  am  not  with  her,  positively  I 
breathe  better." 

Seeing  the  unhappy  expression  of  her  step- 
father she  added,  "  Don't  you  know  that  I 
have  never  said  this  to  any  one  but  to  you?" 

"  Happy  thing !"  muttered  the  poor  stunned 
man. 

"  It  is  true !  I  have  confidence  only  in  you." 
As  she  looked  over  her  shoulder  she  saw  the 
Count  de  Bray,  who  was  sitting  in  a  wicker 
chair,  so  she  added,  "  In  Uncle  Marc  too. 
Why  don't  you  speak,  Uncle  Marc?" 

Uncle  Marc,  a  big,  tall,  elegant  fellow,  re- 
plied in  a  singing  voice :  "  Because  I  have 
nothing  to  say.  When  I  have  spoken  before, 
your  mother  has  silenced  me.  Therefore " 

"  That's  true,  but  as  she  is  not  here " 

"  Well,  as  that  is  so,  I  will  say  that  you 
have  spoken  the  truth,  my  poor  Chiffon ;  and 
as  I  cannot  sustain  you  in  it,  I  say  nothing." 


16  Cbtffon's  flfcarrfage. 

"  How  good  you  are !" 

"  Oh,  excellent !  but  let  me  be  quiet  now, 
little  tease,"  and  rising  quickly,  he  pushed 
Coryse  away,  who  was  climbing  on  his  knee 
like  a  little  baby. 

She  asked  him  in  the  most  surprised  way 
why  he  had  treated  her  in  this  manner. 

"  Because  you  are  too  big  for  such  monkey 
tricks — at  your  age !  Is  this  good  manners?" 

"  How  manners!  Can  I  never  get  on  your 
knee  again?"  and  with  a  funny  expression, 
"  Ah !  if  you  were  not  my  uncle !" 

Marc  de  Bray  replied  peevishly :  "  That  is 
true,  I  am  not!" 

"Oh,  how  wicked  you  are  to  say  that!" 
throwing  herself  on  the  sofa  she  buried  her 
face  in  the  cushions  and  sobbed. 

"  Oh !  what  is  the  matter  with  the  little  one? 
She  cries  now  about  everything — I  cannot 
bear  it." 

"  Be  a  little  indulgent,"  his  brother  said. 
"  She  is  in  bad  spirits  about  her  marriage." 

"  1  quite  understand  that !" 

"  Take  care  that  she  does  not  hear  you. 
She  will  send  poor  Aubieres  to  the  devil 
forever !" 


Cbfffon's  dftarrfage.  17 

"  Very  well !  You  are  not  going  to  allow 
this  unnatural  union,  are  you?" 

"  Her  mother  wishes  it  so  muchT 

"  She  is  foolish !  Aubieres  is  twenty-five 
years  older  than  Chiffon !" 

"  Well,  the  little  Liron  adores  you,  and  she 
is  twenty  years  younger." 

"I  will  admit  that  she  adores  me  to-day, 
but  to-morrow?" 

"  I  can  also  remind  you  of  our  mother,  who 
was  twenty-five  years  younger  than  her  hus- 
band and  yet  adored  him  passionately." 

"  Such  cases  are  rare,  yet  Chiffon  is  not 
happy,  and  that  is  quite  plain."  He  went 
over  to  the  divan,  and  putting  his  arm  around 
her  rosy  neck  he  said  affectionately :  "  I  ask 
pardon,  Chiffon,  for  giving  you  pain." 

She  raised  her  eyes  and  said :  "  Why  were 
you  so  wicked — to  say  that  you  were  not  my 
uncle?" 

"  Because,  although  I  love  you  as  much, 
yet  I  am  not.  I  am  the  brother  of  the  hus- 
band of  your  mother;  I  am  nothing  to  you. 
I  could  marry  you — if  I  was  not  the  age  of 
d'Aubieres  that  you  have  sent  off." 

"  Oh !"  the  child  answered,  stupefied,  "  you 


18  Cbtffon'0 

the  age  of  M.  d'Aubieres?    You  are  not  as 
shrunken  as  he,  as  the  men  say  at  Pont-sur- 
Sarthe.     The  other  day  I  was  talking  in  the 
street  with  a  man  who  said  that  to  me,  to  ex 
plain  that  his  wife,  was  a  little  gassee." 

"  What !"  the  marquis  said,  "  you  have 
talked  in  the  street  with  a  man !  What  man?" 

"  A  good  man  that  I  met  returning  from  my 
ride  with  old  John.  I  think  he  was  a  sweeper 
or  a  rag-picker." 

"  Oh,  if  your  mother  knew  this!" 

"  Yes,  I  know  what  she  would  say,  but  she 
did  not  see  me,"  and  turning  suddenly  to  her 
Uncle  Marc  she  asked  him,  "Are  you  my 
Uncle  Marc  or  not?  Five  years  I  have  called 
you  uncle,  and  I  believe  you  are.  Papa  is 
papa,  is  he  not?  Then  you  can  give  me  ad- 
vice. Shall  I  or  shall  I  not  marry  M.  d'Au- 
bieres?" 

"  Now,  that  is  a  very  embarrassing  ques- 
tion." 

"Well,   if  you  were   in   my  place,  what 
would  you  do?" 
J4  In  your  place — I  would  wait." 

"it  is  precisely  because  I  am  waiting 
that " 


Gbitton's  flbarrfage.  19 

*  Before  saying  no,  I  would  see  him  some- 
times and  reflect." 

"  Ah !  you  think  seeing  him  oftener  would 
change  my  mind?  I  think  the  contrary." 

"Aubieres  is  clever,  he  is  good  and  well 
born;  he  cannot  fail  to  improve  on  longer 
acquaintance;  without  being  rich  he  has  a 
nice  fortune  and  an  historic  name." 

"  Oh,  I  know  *hat  he  is  historic.  I  have 
heard  that  so  often,  but  I  have  an  historic 
name  also;  one  is  not  apt  to  long  for  things 
they  have,  but  those  they  have  not." 

"  What  is  it  you  wish?" 

She  thought  a  moment  and  said  firmly: 
"  Much  love — or  if  that  is  impossible,  much 
money !  There  would  not  be  a  poor  person 
in  Pont-sur-Sarthe ;  do  you  see?  Then  I 
would  buy  pictures  and  beautiful  horses ;  and 
I  would  have  a  concert  every  night.  Ah !  no 
one  would  be  bored  in  my  house." 

"  Bored !  if  your  mother  heard  you  1" 

"  Yes,  but  she  does  not  hear  me !" 

A  servant  opened  the  door.  "The  mar- 
chioness wishes  to  speak  to  the  marquis  before 
dinner,  and  also  to  the  count,  and  wishes  Miss 
Coryse  to  go  and  dress." 


20  Cbfffon's  flfcarrtage. 

"  Dress !"  Coryse  said ;  "  is  she  to  have  com- 
pany?" Then  turning  with  a  laugh  to  her 
step-father  and  uncle,  "  This  is  for  d' Aubi- 
eres,  and  she  wants  us  to  make  an  impres- 
sion. Go  quickly,  and  I  will  put  on  my  old 
pink  dress;  it  is  less  pretty  and  more  soiled 
than  this,  but  it  is  for  the  evening." 

She  looked  at  M.  de  Bray,  who  went  out 
followed  by  his  brother,  and  with  eyes  full  of 
tears  she  murmured:  "Nevermind!  it  is  hard 
that  the  two  beings  who  really  love  me  are 
nothing,  nothing  to  me." 

When  her  step-father  turned  to  reply,  she 
repeated,  "'The  only  two!'  This  is  not  ex- 
actly right ;  I  forgot  Uncle  Albert  and  Aunt 
Matilda,  and  they  are  something  to  me !" 

All  at  once  taken  with  a  sudden  idea,  she  ran 
quickly  under  her  father's  arm,  who  still  held 
the  knob  of  the  door,  and  laughingly  she 
said:  "I  dine  with  them  this  evening.  Tell 
my  mother  if  she  has  forgotten  it,"  and  she 
ran  down  the  steps. 


CHAPTER  IL 

CHIFFON  bounded  up  to  her  room,  threw  a 
hat  upon  her  blonde  head,  and  in  going  into 
the  office  met  old  John,  who  was  putting  on 
a  pair  of  cotton  gloves,  with  oaths.  They 
were  too  narrow  for  his  big  hands. 

"  Be  quick !  Come  along  and  take  me  to 
my  Aunt  Matilda's." 

"  My  young  lady,  you  forget  we  have  com- 
pany at  home  to  dinner,  and  I  must  open  the 
door;  they  are  arriving  now." 

"  Oh,  you  will  have  time.  You  can  get 
back  soon,  and  we  will  run  all  the  way." 

"  Ah,  can  we  run  in  this  heat?  That  would 
be  very  ladylike  to  run." 

He  finished  putting  on  his  gloves.  Coryse 
took  him  by  the  arm,  hurrying  him  along 
quickly.  The  good  man,  holding  out  his  fin- 
gers with  admiration,  asked  if  she  had  per- 
mission? 

"  Oh,  I  am  going  without  it     Come  along." 

M 


22  Cbiffon's  flbatriage. 

"  I  guess  you  have  told  the  truth, — you 
have  not." 

"  But  if  I  have,  from  papa?" 

"  Oh,  that  does  not  mean  anything,  the  per- 
mission of  the  marquis." 

In  going  across  the  dining-room  she  stopped 
suddenly,  looking  at  the  covers.  "  There  are 
several  to  dine;  I  thought  M.  d'Aubieres 
was  the  only  one." 

She  asked  John  where  he  was  going. 

"  To  get  my  helmet,  which  is  hanging  up 
in  the  saddle-room.  I  will  soon  catch  up  to 
you." 

He  joined  Coryse,  who  got  over  the  ground 
with  long  strides,  and  began  to  walk  behind 
her.  All  at  once  she  turned  back  and  asked 
him  if  he  knew  M.  d'Aubieres? 

"  Do  you  like  him,  John?" 

"  I  think  he  is  a  fine  colonel !" 

"  They  want  me  to  marry  himT' 

The  old  coachman's  comic  face  made  the 
little  girl  laugh, — "It  cannot  be  true ;  he  is 
old  enough  to  be  your  father!" 

"That  makes  no  difference.'  they  want  it. 
It  is  my  mother's  wish !" 

The  good  fellow,  who  knew  the  tastes  of 


Cbfffon'd  ftatrfage.  38 

his  mistress,  said:  "He  has  a  great  name, 
this  Duke  d'Aubieres!" 

"  Come,  John,  walk  by  my  side ;  you  give 
me  a  stiff  neck  turning  around  so  often." 

"  I  cannot  do  that,  Miss  Coryse ;  the  mar- 
chioness has  especially  forbidden  it.  She 
says  that  I  must  walk  five  steps  behind  when 
in  the  street  with  you." 

"  That  is  for  others,  not  for  you,  who  are 
almost  my  nurse.  We  must  not  have  all  this 
etiquette  between  us — why,  we  are  already 
here !" 

John  looked  at  the  old  granite  house  op- 
posite, which  threw  its  dark  shadow  on  the 
street,  and  said,  heaving  a  big  sigh :  "  There 
is  a  fine  house  where  one  can  be  happy  with 
good  masters.  Not  that  I  wish  to  say  any- 
thing about  the  marquis — who  could  be  bet- 
ter than  he? — but  he  cannot  always  do  what 
he  wishes,  while  M.  and  Mm^.  de  Launay 
always  wish  the  same  thing." 

"  Are  you  sorry  to  have  left  them?" 

"  No,  Miss  Coryse,  for  I  am  with  you,  but 
when  you  marry  the  Duke  d'Aubieres  or 
some  one  else,  I  won't  stay  long  with  the 
marchioness.  But  I  am  tired  pitying  myself 


84  Cbiffon'5  dfcarriage, 

to  you  In  this  way,  because  you  are  more  to 
be  pitied  than  I  am.  I  can  go  when  I  wish, 
but  you  cannot." 

After  a  little  silence  the  good  fellow,  still 
harping  upon  the  same  idea,  said:  "Do  you 
think  Mme.  de  Launay  would  take  me  back? 
You  know  I  left  her  to  be  with  you,  Miss 
Coryse,  and  their  horses  are  not  so  fat  or  so 
shiny  as  they  used  to  be." 

"  But  you  know  that  you  will  stay  with  me 
always,  John,  and  when  I  go  I  will  take  you 
with  me." 

She  raised  the  knocker  of  the  porte  cochere 
and  jumped  over  the  big  bar.  The  old  coach- 
man leaned  toward  her  with  his  eyes  full  of 
tears : 

"  What,  Miss  Coryse !  do  you  wish  in  youff 
service  an  old  man  like  me,  who  is  ugly  and 
not  stylish?" 

"  Oh  yes,  nurse,  you  please  me,  and  you 
are  true  if  not  handsome." 

Letting  fall  the  knocker  of  the  door  she 
called  out  to  him  to  wait,  and  in  a  laughing 
way,  without  noticing  his  terrified  expression, 
said :  "  You  know  you  will  not  be  too  well 
received  at  the  house.** 


Cbtffon's  flbarrfage.  25 

Chiffon's  entrance  in  the  de  Launay  dining- 
room  was  an  event, — Aunt  Matilda  and  Uncle 
Albert  jumped  up  to  receive  her  with  de- 
light, and  the  servant  gave  a  satisfied  grunt. 

Everybody  adored  Chiffon  in  that  old  house 
where  she  had  spent  her  early  days,  and 
where  she  returned  whenever  she  could  es- 
cape from  home.  She  was  ten  years  old 
when  her  mother  married  the  second  time 
and  took  her  from  the  old  couple  who  had 
looked  upon  her  as  their  child.  It  was  a  ter- 
rible wrench  for  them,  and  for  the  child  also, 
who  was  alarmed  for  her  future.  She  was 
forever  scolded  by  her  mother,  but  petted  by 
the  old  uncle  and  aunt  from  the  time  she  first 
knew  them.  Tossed  about  and  teased  by 
successive  wheedling  and  bad  treatment  from 
Madame  d'Avesnes,  Coryse,  though  gay  in 
disposition,  became  sad  by  reflection  and 
lived  in  a  state  of  perpetual  unhappiness. 

Seated  in  her  little  chair  with  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  portraits  of  her  family  in  their 
stiff  old-fashioned  gowns,  she  dreamed  and 
thought.  She  thought  it  was  good  to  live 
and  to  laugh,  to  roll  on  the  carpet  or  on  the 
grass  so  full  of  sunlight  and  joy.  She  thought 


28  Cbfffon's 

it  was  delightful  to  talk  with  the  dogs,  the 
horses,  the  birds,  and  the  flowers.  But  all 
this  could  not  last;  some  day,  perhaps  to-mor- 
row, you  would  hear  the  noise  of  a  carriage, 
and  Uncle  Albert  would  put  his  arm  tenderly 
around  her  and  say  with  some  embarrass- 
ment: 

"  My  little  Chiffon,  your  mother  has  come 
for  you  and  you  must  go  and  meet  her  with 
Claudine." 

They  never  told  her  of  these  visits  in  ad- 
vance, knowing  that  she  would  not  eat  or 
sleep.  She  had  many  crying  spells,  but  could 
brace  up  at  the  last  moment  and  appear  re- 
signed to  her  fate.  She  only  thought  of 
obeying  her  uncle,  and  would  take  a  corner 
of  Claudine's  apron  and  go  down  with  a  brave 
air  to  meet  her  mother. 

The  Breton  woman  would  encourage  her  in 
her  coarse  voice:  "Come  on,  Chiffon,  thou 
must  do  what  is  right." 

"  You  must  do  what  is  right  also,  and  not 
say  'thee,'  and  'thou'  to  me — but  miss;  don't 
forget  this." 

Certainly  these  scenes  greatly  embittered 
the  child.  The  sight  of  Aunt  Matilda  quietly 


Cbfffon's  flbatrfaee.  27 

crying  in  her  room,  or  a  discharged  servant 
dragging  her  trunk  in  the  hall,  was  enough  to 
keep  her  little  eyes  wide  open  all  night. 
She  was  ever  expecting  the  coming  of  the 
carriage,  even  when  she  played  or  was  look- 
ing lovingly  at  the  water  and  the  flowers. 

For  many  years  Chiffon  had  lived  happily 
in  this  way,  but  also  much  preoccupied  and 
not  forgetting  the  bad  days  past  and  to  come, 
and  always  anticipating  some  rude  shock. 
The  announcement  of  the  marriage  of  her 
mother  was  to  a  degree  a  matter  of  indiffer- 
ence, but  she  became  alarmed  when  she  felt 
that  she  must  leave  this  old  home  and  the 
dear  old  relatives  who  had  reared  her.  She 
had  seen  the  Marquis  de  Bray  on  horseback 
with  his  brother  Marc,  and  she  thought  him 
very  handsome  and  distinguished.  But  the 
fear  that  he  might  be  like  her  mother  filled 
her  with  alarm.  She  was  perfect  mistress  of 
herself  and  kept  her  fears  from  others.  When 
Mme.  d'Avesnes  announced  to  her  that  ma- 
ternal love  alone  induced  this  marriage,  and 
that  interest  for  her  future  had  decided  her, 
Coryse  was  perfectly  silent.  When  M.  de 
Bray  came  to  visit  her  mother  and  wanted  to 


28  Cbfffon's  Carriage, 

meet  her,  she  would  run  off  and  hide  in  the 
bottom  of  the  garden  among  the  bushes. 

Pale  and  with  pinched  lips  she  attended 
the  wedding  in  the  cathedral,  understanding 
that  the  last  remembrance  of  her  poor  father 
was  gone  forever.  With  this  bitterness  at 
heart  the  little  girl  went  to  her  new  home. 
M.  de  Bray  loved  Chiffon  at  once,  but  guess- 
ing her  thoughts  he  did  not  try  too  hurriedly 
to  prove  them.  The  bad  temper  of  his  wife 
soon  brought  it  about.  Disgusted  with  her 
noise  and  tears  and  insane  gestures,  these  two 
beings,  gay  and  good,  sought  each  other  as  a 
solace,  were  constantly  together,  and  Chiffon 
was  only  happy  when  near  her  step-father. 

The  child  tried  to  hide  her  terror  of  her 
mother,  and  affected  a  supercilious,  almost 
impertinent  air  while  her  teeth  were  chatter- 
ing and  knees  trembling.  One  evening  she 
betrayed  herself.  Followed  by  her  mother 
in  a  great  passion  she  took  hold  of  the  banis- 
ters and  slid  down  suddenly  into  the  library. 
Thinking  she  was  alone  she  planted  herself 
against  the  door,  breathless  and  in  an  agony, 
listening  for  her  mother. 

Marc  de  Bray,  who  lived  with  his  brother. 


Gbfffon's  Carriage.  29 

was  smoking  in  a  big  chair  by  a  lamp.  He 
spoke  softly  to  the  little  girl.  She  went  back 
a  little,  displeased  at  being  surprised  at  this 
moment  of  weakness. 

"  Ah,  you  are  there,  are  you?" 

Marc  replied :  "  Yes,  Miss  Corysande,  I  am 
here.  Do  I  disturb  you?" 

Chiffon,  who  never  lied,  said,  "  Yes,  you 
have  seen  me  frightened,  and  I  don't  like 
that." 

He  began  to  laugh,  and  looked  at  the  child 
affectionately.  "  You  are  really  a  pretty 
Chiffon!  Were  you  afraid  of  a  ghost  or  a 
cannon-ball?  I  must  tell  you  that  this  is  un- 
worthy of  a  descendent  of  the  Avesnes;  but 
your  mother !  Oh,  my  child !  I  am  an  old  and 
bearded  man,  and  I  am  afraid  of  her — so  I 
understand  your  position." 

Coryse  with  great  confidence  said :  "  You 
don't  seem  afraid." 

"  No,  I  do  not  seem  afraid  when  she  is 
here ;  that  would  give  her  too  much  pleasure, 
but  after  I  displease  her  I  am  in  a  tremble  all 
over.  This  morning  when  she  attacked  poor 
Joseph  I  could  hardly  contain  myself,  but 
stifled  my  feelings  and  ran  into  the  vesti- 


80  Cbiffon's  Aatrtage. 

bule."    Then    becoming    serious,    he    said: 
"  Come,  Chiffon,  you  should  tell  my  brother 
all  these  things ;  yes !  you  should  tell  him  all 
your  sorrows  and  fears." 
"  Uncle  Marc,  what  could  he  do?" 
"  Well,  he  is  the  master,  after  all." 
Chiffon  opened  her  eyes  widely  and  said, 
"  That  is  not  so !" 

Marc  de  Bray  burst  out  laughing;  "Yes,  I 
am  not  surprised  that  you  think  so.  Your 
step-father  has  a  horror  of  scenes  and  discus- 
sions; he  prefers  always  to  yield  when  the 
matter  concerns  himself.  When  the  affair 
touches  you  it  is  quite  different.  He  was 
your  father's  friend  and  loves  you  dearly." 
He  leaned  toward  her  and  added :  "  I  also, 
little  Chiffon,  love  you  tenderly,  and  if  we 
have  not  talked  of  this  before,  it  has  been  the 
difficulty  of  being  alone." 

When  his  brother  came  into  the  room  he 
said:  "Come,  Peter,  say  to  Chiffon  that  we 
are  her  friends,  and  I  think  this  evening  she 
will  believe  us." 

From  this  moment  a  great  affection  opened 
in  the  closed  heart  of  the  child,  and  she  lived 
more  peacefully. 


Cbfffon's  flfcarrfage.  SI 

"  How  is  it  that  you  have  come  this  even- 
ing, Chiffon?"  her  uncle  Albert  asked;  "I 
thought  you  had  company  at  home." 

She  winked  at  them  and  made  a  funny 
face.  "  Bo  you  mean  M.  d'Aubieres?"  With- 
out giving  them  time  to  reply  she  said :  "  If 
you  were  in  my  place  would  you  marry  M. 
d'Aubieres?" 

"  Oh,  Chiffon !"  Aunt  Matilda  said,  timidly, 
at  the  same  time  looking  at  the  servant  who 
brought  another  plate. 

"Oh,  that  makes  no  difference!  M.  d'Au- 
bieres is  going  to  propose  to  me  at  four 
o'clock.  This  evening  numbers  in  the  town 
will  know  it,  and  to-morrow  my  mother  will 
tell  the  rest.  That  will  look  well  in  Pont- 
sur-Sarthe;  and  they  say  there  are  eighty 
thousand  inhabitants.  This  will  not  prevent 
its  going  around  the  town.  You  knew  it? — 
that  M.  d'Aubieres  wanted  to  marry  me?" 

"  Yes,  we  heard  it  from  your  mother,  who 
came  to  tell  us  and  invite  us  to  her  house  this 
evening." 

"  Oh  yes,  they  wish  to  present  him  to  the 
family  and  force  me  to  say  yes  I" 

Her  aunt  protested,  telling  her  that  &  pre- 


83  Cbfffon's  dfcarriage, 

sentation  was  unnecessary,  as  she  had  known, 
him  for  a  long  time — since  he  was  in  garrison 
here. 

"  It  was  a  year  ago  the  first  time  that  Uncle 
Marc  brought  him  to  dinner ;  he  talked  all 
the  time  about  hunting  and  bored  me  dread- 
fully. I  was  then  in  short  dresses." 

"  Chiffon,  that  is  a  big  word  for  you." 

"  What !  bored?  are  you  so  particular,  Aunt 
Matilda?" 

"  It  is  you  who  are  not,  my  dear.  Your 
mother  is  right — you  have  the  manners  of 
a  boy  and  talk  like  the  children  in  the 
streets." 

"  Indeed,  they  were  the  only  amusement  I 
had.  It  is  not  my  fault  if  I  could  not  find  a 
word  to  say  to  my  De  Lussy  cousins,  nor  to 
the  little  daughters  of  the  general  who  came 
to  lunch  with  me  in  silk  dresses  and  curled 
hair.  It  was  useless  for  me  to  try.  I  leaned 
on  my  arms  and  laughed  foolishly  at  myself 
because  I  could  not  talk.  They  talked  and 
they  tried  to  teach  me,  but  I  did  not  under- 
stand them.  It  was  so  funny — they  seemed 
to  be  playing  a  comedy.  Is  it  not  so,  Uncle 
Albert?  Do  you  see  the  point?" 


Cbifton's  Carriage.  »3 

"  Oh  yes,  I  see  it;  but  eat  your  beef  before 
it  gets  cold." 

"  Oh,  this  beef  is  so  good!  one  more  thing 
that  they  do  not  have  at  the  house." 

"  Your  mother  does  not  like  it,  I   suppose?" 

"Oh,  not  that;  she  says  it  is  only  for  the 
masses,  and  that  condemns  it  at  once, 
whether  a  dish  or  something  else." 

"  Yes,  eat  it,  it  is  good." 

"  Meantime  you  have  givdn  me  no  advice." 

"  About  what?" 

"  M.  d'Aubieres,  of  course." 

"  In  this  case,  my  child,  you  should  decide 
/or  yourself.  M.  d'Aubieres  pleases  your 
mother,  and  it  is  for  you  to  say  if  he  pleases 
you." 

"  I  do  like  him  very  much,  but  I  have  never 
thought  of  him  in  this  light." 

"You  must  see  him  again  many  times. 
This  will  be  easy,  as  he  comes  so  often  to 
your  mother's  house.  You  can  study  him 
well." 

"  What  must  I  do  when  I  have  studied  him 
well?" 

"  You  will  know  then  how  to  answer  him." 

"  I  will  answer  him :    '  Shut  up  I'  " 


84  abfffon's  dfcarrfage. 

"  What?" 

Chiffon  began  to  laugh. 

*  Shut  up?  How  funny,  Aunt  Matilda,  to 
hear  you  say  that !  It  is  a  word  which  means, 
Go  about  your  business!  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  can  understand  slang 
at  my  age?" 

"  You  say  it  very  well,  end  you  sometimes 
use  expressions  like  'bored.'" 

41 1  should  not  say  this,  I  am  sorry !" 

"  Oh  no !  at  these  moments  I  love  you  best. 
I  like  this  in  M.  d'Aubieres, — my  way  of  talk- 
ing does  not  shock  him." 

Aunt  Matilda  then  asked  her  what  was  the 
advice  of  her  father  and  uncle  on  this  ques- 
tion. 

"  Papa  says  very  little  about  it ;  he  contents 
himself  with  praising  M.  d'Aubieres.  Uncle 
Marc  tells  me  to  wait,  and  then  when  he 
thinks  that  I  am  not  listening,  I  am  crying  in 
a  corner." 

The  old  couple  exclaimed,  "  Crying?" 

"Put  yourselves  in  my  place;  if  you 
thought  it  was  all  arranged.  It  was  not  for 
that  alone — when  they  thought  that  I  was  not 


Cbtffon'8  /Carriage.  88 

listening  they  talked  about  their  many  friends 
who  adored  each  other  notwithstanding  the 
twenty  and  twenty-five  years'  difference  in 
their  ages." 

"  Did  they  speak  of  us?" 

"  No." 

"  Chiffon,  I  was  eighty-one  yesterday,  and 
your  aunt  is  only  sixty." 

"Ah,  you  are  all  right  as  you  are," — taking 
the  arm  of  her  old  uncle  to  go  into  the  draw- 
ing-room. 

"  I  ordered  the  carriage  at  half-past  eight," 
Mme.  de  Lannay  said,  "  and  I  must  go  and 
dress." 

"  The  carriage  to  go  two  hundred  yards?" 
She  went  on,  brightly :  "  I  bet  that  is  not 
your  own  idea." 

"  It  was  your  mother  who  asked  us." 

"  Oh  yes,  to  come  in  your  carriage  and 
show  your  fine  horses.  This  is  to  dazzle  M. 
d'Aubieres.  She  always  puts  her  foot  in  it." 

While  the  De  Launays  were  getting  ready 
to  go  out,  Chiffon,  seated  in  her  arm-chair, 
looked  affectionately  at  the  big  drawing-room 
where  she  used  to  play.  She  loved  the  old 
Empire  furniture  covered  with  Utrecht  yel- 


86  CbftTon'0 

low  velvet,  the  little  low  bookcase  of  white 
wood  where  she  often  put  her  playthings; 
and  the  beautiful  Louis  Sixteenth  wainscot- 
ing so  intact  and  bright  with  its  satyrs  and 
nymphs  playing  with  each  other  in  the  woods 
• — Claudine,  the  nurse,  called  them  "  men  and 
women-  chasing  each  other  on  the  wall," — 
and  the  old  clock  with  its  eagles;  and  the 
urns  of  Sevres  china,  charming  but  tiresome. 

Chiffon  loved  to  recall  the  happy  home  of 
her  childhood,  and  when  called  to  go  said 
with  emphasis,  "  It  is  good  to  be  here !" 

On  arriving  at  the  Brays'  she  ran  upstairs, 
saying:  "  You  will  tell  them  that  I  am  dress- 
ing. I  could  not  go  in  as  I  am ;  I  will  weaf 
my  old  pink  dress." 


CHAPTER  III. 

ON  entering  the  beautifully  lighted  room, 
Coryse  stopped  and  looked  with  her  near- 
sighted glasses  upon  the  company  seated 
around  in  a  circle.  She  stopped  a  moment, 
uncertain  whom  she  should  first  address. 
Then  she  walked  toward  an  old  but  distin- 
guished-looking woman,  and  bowed  respect- 
fully to  her. 

The  Countess  de  Jarville  pleased  Coryse 
for  many  reasons.  She  thought  her  aristo- 
cratic in  spite  of  her  modest  air,  and  believed 
her  to  be  intelligent  and  good.  Madame  de 
Bray  hated  this  old  woman,  a  distant  relative 
of  her  husband,  who  was  not  an  ornament  in 
her  rooms  with  her  pale  face  and  faded 
gowns.  This  hatred  was  enough  to  give 
Chiffon  a  sympathy  for  her. 

"  Corysande,  come  here,"  her  mother  said 
in  a  commanding  tone — "  Come  and  speak  to 
Madame  de  Bassigny." 

37  i 


83  Cbfffon's 

Madame  de  Bassigny  was  the  wife  of  a 
colonel,  and  Chiffon's  horror.  She  was  a  rich 
but  affected  woman  who  tried  to  vex  and 
humiliate  all  the  military  people  in  Pont-sur- 
Sarthe,  and  punish  the  officers  who  neglected 
her  reception  day. 

The  little  girl  replied  to  her  mother  with 
indifference  and  said  that  she  would  come 
when  she  had  spoken  to  Mme.  de  Jarville. 

The  marchioness  looked  at  her  daughter 
with  her  most  furious  expression,  while  M. 
d'Aubiere's  good  blue  eyes  were  filled  with 
admiration  and  love.  He  also  detested  the 
wife  of  his  colleague,  and  he  was  delighted 
at  Chiffon's  coolness  to  her.  This  thin  wo- 
man, who  he  said  had  a  beak  in  her  elbow 
and  a  stoop  in  her  back — bad  as  the  itch, 
talkative  as  a  magpie,  and  tricky  as  a  con- 
cierge; who  abused  the  pretty  women  and 
laughed  at  the  ugly  and  poor  ones,  he  had  a 
horror  of  her.  Too  honest  to  hide  his  repul- 
sion entirely,  he  treated  her  with  the  most 
distant  politeness. 

At  first  Mme.  de  Bassigny  was  so  anxious 
to  attract  this  distinguished  bachelor,  who 
bore  such  a  great  name,  that  she  was  most 


Cbfffon's  flfcarrtafle.  89 


amiable  to  him.  She  tried  to  have  the  most 
agreeable  and  popular  salon  in  Pont-sur- 
Sarthe,  and  she  knew  that  the  presence  of 
the  Duke  d'Aubieres  was  indispensable  to 
establish  this  supremacy.  A  duke  is  always 
a  great  personage,  and  especially  so  in  the 
provinces. 

As  soon  as  Colonel  d'Aubieres  arrived  it 
was  whispered,  "  This  is  probably  a  duke  of 
the  Empire,"  and  he  was  looked  upon  with 
curiosity;  but  when  they  learned  that  old  M. 
de  Blamont  had  ascertained  from  the  library 
that  the  title  of  d'Aubieres  dated  from  the 
revision  of  1667,  the  curiosity  became  ad- 
miration. And  as  the  duke  made  so  fine  an 
appearance,  with  his  beautiful  horses,  well 
mounted,  and  phaeton,  and  little  house  for 
himself  —  all  alone,  they  said,  full  of  pretty 
things,  in  the  ninth  quarter,  near  the  termi- 
nus —  he  became  an  object  of  interest  to  the 
mothers,  widows,  and  all  the  young  belles  of 
Pont-sur-Sarthe.  Notwithstanding  all  the 
amiable  attentions  of  Colonel  and  Madame 
Bassigny  he  remained  ceremonious  and  re- 
served, contented  to  be  polite  and  nothing 
more.  More  fortunate  than  her  friend,  Ma- 


40  Cbfffon's 

dame  de  Bray  had  the  pleasure  of  producing 
the  duke  in  her  drawing-room.  He  was  very 
intimate  with  her  brother-in-law  Marc,  who 
brought  him  to  the  house,  not  fearing  this 
time  but  that  his  distinguished  friend  would 
be  well  received. 

All  the  young  women  looked  upon  Madame 
de  Bray  as  somewhat  passee,  but  still  attrac- 
tive, yet  they  paid  great  court  to  the  duke, 
who  looked  upon  them  with  indifference. 
He  guessed  at  once  some  of  Chiffon's  troubles, 
and  Uncle  Marc  told  him  the  rest.  So  at 
forty-three  he  began  to  love  the  child  of  fif- 
teen, who  so  often  ridiculed  and  laughed  at 
him. 

When  d'Aubieres  guessed  the  secrets  of 
her  young  heart  he  thought,  "  1  am  indeed  a 
fool !" 

Finally  after  thinking  and  dreaming  of 
this  marriage  which  at  first  seemed  impos- 
sible, after  a  while  he  said  to  himself,  "  Why 
not? 

The  whole  evening  the  poor  man  was  fear- 
ful, agonized,  looking  at  Chiffon,  trying  to 
discover  the  impression  which  his  offer  had 
made  upon  her  mind.  Chiffon  obstinately 


Cbfffon's  jflfcarrtage.  41 

turned  hex  eyes  away  from  him.  After  hav- 
ing said  a  few  words  to  Madame  de  Bassigny 
she  talked  with  a  little  lank  man  with  a  pro- 
truding forehead  and  short  chin,  the  Vicomte 
de  Barfleur,  descended  from  one  of  the  oldest 
families  in  the  county,  and  who  was  one  of 
the  exquisites  of  Pont-sur-Sarthe.  From  the 
bored  look  of  the  young  girl  the  conversation 
seemed  to  be  without  interest  for  her.  M. 
d'Aubieres  was  irritated  to  see  her  occupied 
with  any  one  else,  and  began  to  take  the  mat- 
ter seriously — all  at  once  a  tall  girl,  Gene- 
vieve  de  Lussy,  one  of  her  cousins,  said :  "  Oh, 
Chiffon!  Why  did  you  not  come  sooner  to 
the  study?" 

"What  is  that?"  Madame  de  Bray  asked. 
"  Did  she  not  go  to  her  class?" 

Coryse  became  very  red,  and  going  up  to 
her  mother  said,  "  Oh  no,  I  stayed  in  the  gar- 
den." She  turned  a  supplicating  expression 
toward  M.  de  Bray,  and  added,  "It  was  so 
lovely !" 

Up  to  the  age  of  five  Madame  de  Bray  had 
always  addressed  her  daughter  as  you, — she 
said  the  tutoiement  among  parents  and  chil- 
dren dated  from  the  Revolution.  It  was 


42  Cbiffon's  /Carriage. 

ignoble  and  levelled  the  classes.  One  fine 
day  on  her  return  from  some  of  her  travels 
she  announced  that  a  reciprocal  tutoiement  was 
more  affectionate ;  this  way  of  talking  alone 
denoted  intimacy  and  confidence.  All  the 
women  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  now 
indulged  in  it  with  their  children,  and  she 
now  exacted  it  from  Coryse.  The  little  girl 
found  it  difficult  to  use  the  expression  so  far 
from  her  heart  and  lips.  Madame  de  Bray 
also  forgot  it  very  often,  and  when  carried 
away  in  discussion  returned  to  the  "you" 

"  I  have  just  told  you — I  remained  in  the 
garden." 

"  Oh,  you  idled." 

"No." 

"  What  then  have  you  done?" 

"  I  looked  at  the  flowers." 

"That  is  just  what  I  have  said!"  and  with 
an  important  air,  as  if  she  held  herself  respon- 
sible for  the  proper  use  of  her  time  and  had 
overlooked  her  studies — "  What  was  the  sub- 
ject to-day,  Genevieve?" 

The  young  girl  stopped  a  moment  to  re- 
cover her  thoughts,  and  then  said,  "  We  were 
busy  with  reproduction."  After  an  over- 


Cbtffon's  flbarrtage.  43 

whelming  silence  she  added,  "With  the  re- 
production of  shrubs." 

Uncle  Marc  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
said  in  a  low  tone,  "  Chiffon  is  right  to  study 
flowers  in  the  garden ;  it  does  not  annoy  any 
one." 

The  marchioness,  who  was  quite  ignorant 
of  these  things,  with  a  very  learned  and  pro- 
tecting air  returned  to  the  tutoiement: 

"  Coryse,  hast  thou  understood?" 

The  little  girl  did  not  reply,  but  Gene- 
vieve,  addressing  her,  said,  "  Tuesday  the 
study  is  on  '  Britannicus. '  ' 

"  I  will  go,"  Chiffon  said.  "  I  love  Racine 
so  much !" 

Little  Barfleur  knew  that  a  man  of  the 
world  should  be  au  fait  on  all  subjects,  and 
he  asked  with  a  polished  indifference  why 
she  liked  Racine  so  much? 

"I  don't  know,"  Chiffon  said.  " Unless  it 
is  that  they  want  me  to  like  Corneille." 

Marc  de  Bray  began  to  laugh ;  his  sister-in- 
law  turned  upon  him  furiously  and  said,  "  You 
are  trying  to  make  her  more  ridiculous  and 
unbearable  than  ever." 

"  Me?" 


44  Cbttton's  /Carriage, 

"  Yes,  you !  who  laugh  at  all  her  absurdi- 
ties as  if  you  found  them  so  funny." 

She  continued  to  scold,  when  Chiffon, 
much  irritated  at  this  criticism  of  herself, 
answered  with  glistening  eyes  and  nose  in 
the  air  as  in  the  old  days  of  battle,  "  I  wish 
you  would  change  the  subject  of  conversa- 
tion." 

One  of  the  doors  of  the  drawing-room  open- 
ing on  the  garden  was  ajar,  and  without 
waiting  for  a  reply  or  to  judge  of  the  effect 
produced-  by  her  speech,  she  went  down  the 
steps  to  meet  Gribouille,  her  best  friend,  an 
enormous  dog,  short  and  thick,  fierce-looking 
but  good-natured. 

It  was  a  bright  night  but  no  moon — one  of 
those  nights  full  of  humidity  and  perfume 
that  Coryse  loved  so  much.  Followed  by 
Gribouille  she  went  away  from  the  house 
toward  the  end  of  the  garden.  The  subtle 
odor  of  the  white  petunias  attracted  her,  and 
when  she  came  near  the  bed  so  pale  in  the 
midst  of  the  grasses  she  leaned  toward  it, 
nostrils  expanded,  and  seized  with  an  intense 
desire  to  roll  on  the  sweet  flowers  that  she 
might  breathe  better. 


<3biffon's  fl&arrfage.  45 

But  she  thought :  "  I  will  hurt  them  '."—For 
Chiffon  felt  sure  that  the  flowers  suffered, 
and  never  touched  them  but  with  delicacy 
and  extreme  care. 

A  noise  on  the  walk  made  Gribouille  bark ; 
and  all  at  once  she  guessed  that  it  was  M. 
d'Aubieres  who  was  coming  in  the  darkness. 

He  asked,  "  Is  it  you,  Miss  Coryse?"  and 
with  a  timid  voice  added  that  he  would  like 
to  talk  to  her  for  a  while. 

"  Have  they  told  you  that " 

She  pitied  his  embarrassment.  "Yes;  I 
know  that  you  have  asked  me  in  marriage 
to-day." 

"  Well?"  he  murmured,  his  voice  suffocated. 

"  Well !  I  did  not  receive  it  as  you  wish,  in- 
deed? That  surprises  me  a  little — much,  if 
you  will  let  me  tell  you?" 

"  Why?  you  have  not  guessed  that  I  have 
loved  you  for  a  long  time?" 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  no !" 

"  It  is  true ;  I  have  loved  you  since  I  knew 
you." 

"Oh,  that  is  too  much;  I  am  sure  that  I 
did  not  make  such  an  impression  the  first  day 
— yes,  at  dinner.  The  evening  that  I  sat 


next  to  you;  I  must  have  seemed  a  model! 
It  is  true  you  kept  me  at  the  highest  pitch 
with  your  hunting  and  your  rally  papers  and 
all  the  other  thrilling  things." 

"But,"  the  poor  man  stammered,  " I  don't 
know  what  you  mean." 

"Be  sure  that  I  am  grateful  to  you  for  not 
having  spoken  of  this  before." 

"  How  you  mock  me !  You  find  me  ridicu- 
lous— tiresome." 

She  protested  with  vivacity,  "  Oh  no,  not 
at  all ;  never !  I  like  you  so  much.  I  am  so 
happy  when  I  see  you." 

Joyous,  he  asked,  "  Well,  but  then ?" 

"  Yes,  when  I  see  you  accidentally, — but  if 
it  was  forever — forever,  all  the  time " 

"  Then  JTOU  do  not  wish  me?" 

At  this  question  Chiffon  wanted  to  say, 
No.  But  this  would  have  ended  it,  and  she 
guessed  so  much  of  his  suffering  in  the  chok- 
ing voice  so  full  of  supplication,  that  she  had 
not  the  heart  to  add  to  the  grief  of  one  who 
loved  her  so  much.  So  she  replied  gently, 
"  No — I  do  not  say  that.  I  am  much  flattered, 
grateful  for  your  affection,  but  I  am  such  a 
little  girl!  I  have  thought  so  little  upon 


Cbfffon's  flfcarrlage.  47 

grave  matters.  Give  me  some  time  to  re- 
flect, will  you?  Don't  ask  me  to  say  yes  or 
no;  for  then  I  would  say  no." 

"  I  will  await  your  decision,  but  let  me 
plead  my  cause  a  little."  And  seeing  Coryse 
turn  toward  the  house  he  followed  her,  tak- 
ing her  arm  gently  in  his. 

"  I  beg  you  to  let  me  have  still  a  few  min- 
utes? Your  mother  told  me  to  join  you  here." 

"Ah!"  Chiffon  said,  "I  thought  so;  she 
cannot  leave  me  in  peace." 

In  a  soft  but  grave  voice  M.  d'Aubieres 
said,  much  agitated :  "  I  appear  old  to  you, 
but  I  offer  you  a  young  heart  which  has  never 
been  given  to  any  one." 

"  Oh !"  Coryse  replied,  "  you  have  never 
reached  this  age  without  loving  some  one." 

He  answered  gravely,  "  What  I  mean  by 
loving — never !" 

"  And  what  do  you  mean  by  loving?" 

"  I  mean  to  give  my  heart  and  my  life." 

"  Is  this  not  what  is  always  called  loving?" 

"  No,  not  always,"  murmured  d'Aubieres. 

"Now,"  Chiffon  said  brusquely,  "I  would 
like  to  tell  you  that  I  don't  believe  it." 

"  You  don't?  why?" 


48  Cbtffon's  dfcarttage. 

"  Well,  it  is  a  little  difficult  to  explain,  but 
one  spring  day,  when  I  was  riding  on  horse- 
back with  Uncle  Marc  in  the  Crisville  wood, 
I  saw  you  in  the  distance  with  a  lady.  I 
recognized  you  at  once;  there  is  no  one  in 
Pont-sur-Sarthe  so  tall  as  you  are.  You 
were  on  foot  and  a  hack  followed  you — one 
of  those  funny  little  hacks  from  the  station. 
The  lady — she  was  one  of  those  women  of 
whom  no  one  speaks  except  my  mother  and 
Madame  Bassigny,  who  calls  them  damsels. 
One  passes  aside  from  them  in  the  street  or 
circus ;  when  it  is  necessary  to  brush  by  them 
it  is  thought  to  burn  you.  Pardon  my  speak- 
ing in  this  way  of  one  of  your  friends." 

"Me?"  the  duke  protested,  half  laughing 
and  half  sad. 

"Then  I  said  to  Uncle  Marc,  'There  is  M. 
d'Aubieres  with  the  lady  we  should  not 
talk  about' — and  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  Paul  de 
Lussy,  Genevieve's  brother,  he  also  made 
great  fun  of  this  woman.  Then  Georgette 
Guilbray,  the  daughter  of  your  general, 
showed  her  to  Genevieve  one  day  in  the  park. 
The  lady  said  to  her,  'She  is  the'  one  your 
brother  laughs  about,'  Genevieve  showed 


Cblffon's  flBarrfage.  49 

her  to  me  also,  and  I  asked  papa  at  breakfast 
to  explain  it  to  me.  Oh !  I  will  never  forget 
it!  I  can  see  my  mother  now  jump  up  and 
curse  me  with  her  napkin,  and  call  me  a 
shameful  girl !  I  was  blue,  I  did  not  under- 
stand what  was  the  matter.  Then  after  break- 
fast papa  led  me  into  the  smoking-room,  and 
he  told  me  not  to  speak  of  such  things,  es- 
pecially before  my  mother,  and  besides  one 
should  ignore  these  women,  who  are  a  world 
apart.  In  the  evening  this  began  again  with 
my  mother  when  I  went  to  bed.  Indeed,  I 
was  never  caught  in  such  a  snarl  in  my  life. 
But  perhaps  it  tries  you  for  me  to  relate  all 
this?" 

"  No.  I  would  like  only  to  explain." 
"  Wait  until  I  finish.  Then  I  said  to  Uncle 
Marc,  'Look  at  M.  d'Aubieres  with  the  wo- 
man that  no  one  talks  about;'  and  he  said, 
'You  don't  know  what 'you  are  talking  about. 
You  are  as  near-sighted  as  a  mole,  and  you 
can't  see  so  far  away.'  Then  I  offered  to  run 
and  look,  but  he  did  not  wish  it,  and  the  first 
path  we  found — crack!  he  pushed  me  in  so 
that  I  could  not  see  the  read  any  longer;  and 

this  is  all  now " 

.    4 


50  Cbiffon's  Carriage. 

"I  am  going  to  ex " 

"  I  have  not  finished!  A  month  after  I  was 
with  old  John  and  I  saw  you  with  the  same 
woman  in  nearly  the  same  place.  I  said  to 
myself,  'This  time  I  will  not  be  like  my 
mother  and  Madame  Bassigny,  and  I  am  not 
afraid  of  burning  myself.  I  am  going  to  look 
closely  at  them ;'  and  began  to  trot.  'Miss 
Coryse,'  John  said,  'this  road  is  good  grazing, 
the  horses  want  to  put  their  muzzles  in  it. 
My  advice  is  to  go  back  from  where  we 
came.'  I  did  not  listen  to  him,  but  at  this 
moment  you  got  into  the  funny  hack  and 
went  by  the  Crisville  road.  I  said  to  John,  'I 
want  to  see  where  they  go;'  and  he  said, 
'Miss  Coryse,  that  is  not  the  thing  for  you 
to  do.'" 

"  And  after?" 

"  Afterward  I  lost  you  in  a  cross-road,  but 
I  found  you  again,  at  the  inn  at  Crisville. 
Your  horse  ate  the  hay  and  you  were  first 
at  the  window,  with  the  damsel.  Then  I 
thought " 

"  You  have  thought?" 

"Yes  I  thought,  as  M.  d'Aubieres  hides 
in  the  wood  and  inns  with,  a  woman 


Cblffon's  dfcatrlage.  51 

with  whom  he  cannot  show  himself,  it  is 
quite  certein  that  he  wishes  to  see  her  re- 
gardless of  everything — that  he  loves  her! 
He  a  colonel,  and  above  all  an  old  man." 

The  duke  made  a  motion  to  explain. 

"  Yes ;  in  comparison  with  Paul  de  Lussy, 
who  is  only  twenty-two,  you  are  old,  are  you 
not?  In  Paul  these  things  would  be  called 
foolish." 

"  It  is  terribly  dull  at  Pont-sur-Sarthe ;  and 
one  must  try  and  get  amusement  anyvvhere. 
I  cannot  explain  to  you  what  you  cannot 
understand,  but  I  can  assure  you  that  what- 
ever you  may  have  -seen  or  heard  of  my 
stupid  existence  I  am  worthy  of  your  love, 
and  to  be  your  husband.  Never — since  the 
day  I  first  saw  you  I  have  had  no  idea  of  giv- 
ing my  name  or  heart  to  any  one,  and  I  offer 
you,  nothwithstanding  my  great  age,  a  love 
young  and  pure."  Pressing  against  him  the 
little  arm  that  he  had  kept  under  his  own,  he 
whispered,  "  I  beg  you  to  let  me  hope  a  little?" 

"If  I  do  not  reply  at  once  yes,"  Coryse 
said  frankly,  "  it  is  that  I  do  not  wish  to  marry 
a  man  that  I  do  not  love  above  all  others.  I 
detest  the  world  and  its  manners  1  I  have  as 


68  Cbtffon's  fl&arrfage. 

yet  loved  Uncle  and  Aunt  de  Launay,  Uncle 
Marc,  old  John,  my  good  dog,  and  my  flow- 
ers. I  want  to  love  my  husband  tenderly 
and  truly,  though  I  do  not  yet  know  what 
love  is." 

M.  d'Aubieres  stopped  a  moment  and  took 
the  child's  hands  and  pressed  them  to  his  lips. 
"  I  will  be  dreadfully  unhappy  if  I  must  give 
you  up."  He  drew  her  toward  him  and  she 
made  no  resistance,  touched  by  the  trembling 
voice,  and  all  this  tenderness. 

"  Chiffon,"  he  murmured,  "  my  little  Chif- 
fon !" 

She  leaned  against  his  shoulder,  dreaming 
and  asking  herself  if  she  could  not  love  this 
man  who  appeared  so  good  and  who  loved 
her  so  dearly ! 

But  M.  d'Aubieres,  overcome  by  this  little 
body  which  abandoned  itself  to  him,  ener- 
vated by  the  darkness,  drunk  with  the  perfume 
of  the  flowers  and  at  this  hour  of  the  night, 
completely  lost  his  head.  He  threw  his  arms 
around  Coryse  and  smothered  her  with  kisses. 

The  little  girl  drew  away  with  horror,  and 
as  the  duke  regained  his  composure  she  re- 
proached him  for  what  he  had  done. 


Cbftton'3  Carriage.  68 


*  Pardon  me,  I  love  you  so  dearly  !** 
Awakening  from  a  fright  which  in  her  in- 
nocence she  could  not  explain,  she  replied 
simply,  "  I  also  ask  pardon,  but  I  do  not  wish 
to  be  embraced  " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  HAVE  you  seen  Chiffon  this  morning?"  M. 
de  Bray  asked  the  marchioness,  who  entered 
the  library  a  little  before  breakfast,  where  he 
and  his  brother  were  talking  together. 

Uncle  Marc  said  that  he  had  met  her 
about  nine  o'clock  in  the  Benedictines  street 
—she  was  walking  very  fast  followed  by  old 
John.  The  marchioness  was  very  angry  at 
her  going  without  permission.  M.  de  Bray 
suggested  in  a  conciliating  tone  that  she  had 
probably  gone  to  mass. 

"  To  mass !  she  never  goes  except  on  Sun- 
day." 

Marc  was  looking  out  of  the  window  and 
announced  her  return  with  Luce.  Luce  was 
the  Baroness  de  Givry,  cousin-german  of  M. 
de  Bray.  She  came  into  the  library  fol- 
lowed by  Chiffon,  who  entered  with  her  nose 
in  the  air,  assuming  the  most  indifferent 
manner. 

54 


Cbfffon's  flfcarrfage.  65 

Without    addressing    the    young  woman, 
the  marchioness  attacked  Coryse  with  harsh 
voice  and  threatening  tone,  which  made  the 
little  girl  half  shut  her  eyes. 
"  Where  have  you  been?" 
The  child  replied,  "  To  Saint  Marcien." 
"  What?  you  never  go  to  mass !" 
"  I  have  not  been  to  mass." 
"  Well,  what  have  you  been  doing?" 
"  I  have  been  to  see  the  Abbe  Chatel  1" 
"  Why?" 

"  Because  I  had  something  to  tell  him." 
"Ah,  indeed!  what  has  he  told  you?" 
"  Before  I  tell  you  what  he  said  to  me,  I 
had  best  tell  you  what  I  asked  him;"  and 
laughingly  she    said,  "  This  will  be  a  long 
story." 

Then  the  marchioness,  addressing  Madame 
de  Givry,  asked  her  if  they  had  met  at  the 
confessional  of  the  Abbe  Chatel.  When  the 
young  woman  told  her  that  he  was  no  longer 
her  confessor,  the  marchioness  expressed  sur- 
prise, telling  her  she  thought  she  talked  of 
him  constantly  and  could  not  move  a  finger 
without  him ;  and  she  wanted  to  know  what 
had  happened. 


68  Cbfffon's  fl&arrfage. 

Luce  de  Givry  was  a  tall  woman  about 
twenty-eight,  bony  and  brown,  entirely  de- 
void of  grace.  She  was  celebrated  in  Pont- 
sur-Sarthe  for  her  piety  and  narrowness — but 
tolerant  of  the  views  of  others,  she  practised 
good  works,  but  loved  the  world  passionately, 
who,  as  Marc  de  Bray  said,  paid  her  with  black 
ingratitude.  Not  that  she  was  disagreeable 
and  wanting  in  intelligence,  but  she  failed  to 
please  by  reason  of  little  ridiculous  ways  and 
by  an  absolute  lack  of  youth  and  charm. 
Women  were  bored  by  her  rigid  views,  men 
could  not  pardon  her  want  of  beauty,  and 
Luce  was  only  appreciated  in  her  family,  who 
loved  her  for  her  fine  qualities  and  natural 
goodness. 

"  Let  us  hear  a  little  that  you  have  said 
to  the  abbe,"  Uncle  Marc  asked,  playing 
stupid. 

Madame  de  Givry  repeated  very  gently, 
"  I  confess  no  longer  to  him." 

"  You  have  quarrelled?" 

"  No,  we  have  had  no  dispute,  but  he  does 
not  wish  it." 

"  Since  when?"  Chiffon  asked,  very  much 
surprised. 


Cbiffon's  /ftacrfafle.  57 


*  Since  my  ball  which  I  gave  at  the  time  of 
the  circus." 

Marc  asked  what  her  ball  had  to  do  with 
him?  "  Is  he  stupid  enough  to  interfere  with 
such  things?" 

"  Oh  !"  Luce  replied  with  animation,  "  it  is 
not  the  fault  of  the  poor  abbe  ;  it  is  my  fault. 
I  went  the  evening  before  to  ask  permission 
of  him  to  give  it." 

"  What  did  he  say?" 

"He  said,  'My  child,  these  things  do  not 
concern  me.  '  " 

"  He  has  fine  sense." 

"  I  insisted,  but  he  wanted  to  end  the  mat- 
ter. He  said,  'Don't  come  to  me,  a  priest, 
to  ask  permission  to  give  an  entertainment 
which  the  Church  does  not  approve.  I  should 
not  encourage  you  in  these  things.  '  'But  my 
husband  wishes  me  to  give  the  ball.'  'Very 
well;  give  it  and  then  come  and  tell  me  you 
have  done  it,  and  we  will  arrange  matters  af- 
terward. '  '  But,  Father,  I  don't  wish  to  give  it 
without  your  permission.  '  '  Indeed,  my  child, 
you  place  me  .in  a  most  awkward  position.'  " 

"  He  was  right,  poor  man  !"  Marc  de  Bray 
said  laughingly. 


68  ,     Cbiffon's  d&arrfage. 

The  marchioness  declared  him  to  be  a 
hypocrite.  She  only  believed  in  the  Jesuits. 

Coryse  was  vexed  to  hear  the  old  abbe 
called  a  hypocrite ;  she  loved  him  so  much. 

"Well,"  her  mother  said,  "it  is  not  his 
place  to  excite  the  people  of  Pont-sur-Sarthe 
to  revolt." 

And,  turning  to  Madame  de  Givry,  she  said 
that  she  could  not  understand  her  spending 
her  life  in  going  to  balls  and  without  permis- 
sion. 

"  But  I  have  got  it." 

"  How?" 

"  It  is  just  what  I  said  to  the  Abbe  Chatel, 
'since  you  let  me  go  to  balls?'  He  replied, 
'My  child,  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it;  a 
ball  gives  more  opportunity  to  sin  than  many 
other  things.  When  you  give  a  ball  you  give 
the  opportunity  to  others  to  sin ;  you  are  in  a 
certain  way  responsible  for  it, — but  on  the 
contrary,  when  you  do  not  go  to  a  ball  you 
not  only  refrain  from  sinning  yourself,  but 
give  no  occasion  to  others. '  That  makes  you 
laugh?" — to  Marc,  who  had  rolled  over  on  the 
sofa.  "  All  the  invitations  had  gone  out,  we 
had  only  two  days.  When  I  returned  home 


Cbiffon's  fllbarrafse.  59 


I  said  to  Hubert  and  mamma  that  the  Abbe 
Chatel  had  refused  permission." 

"  Did  they  put  their  heads  together?" 
Coryse  asked. 

"  Yes,  mamma  told  me  that  I  was  foolish 
to  speak  of  this  to  the  abbe.  Hubert  was 
furious.  He  said,  'Well,  we  won't  give  the 
ball,  but  as  we  are  no  longer  in  mourning,  I 
don't  see  why  we  should  receive  politeness 
from  people  and  not  return  it.'  Then  the 
good  Providence  had  pity  on  me  and  in- 
spired me  with  the  thought  to  go  to  Father 
Ragon." 

"  Ah,  indeed  !"  Coryse  said  with  a  grimace. 

"  Father  Ragon  was  charming.  When  I 
told  him  about  the  Abbe  Chatel  and  ex- 
plained to  him  the  object  of  my  visit,  he 
asked  me  what  was  said  about  it  in  the  gos- 
pel —  'A  woman  should  obey  her  husband.' 
'Your  husband  wishes  you  to  give  a  ball; 
God  wishes  it.'  " 

"  Oh  !"  Coryse  said,  "  how  many  things  are 
put  upon  the  Lord!" 

"  I  was  delighted,  and  ran  at  once  to  the 
Abbe  Chatel  and  told  him  that  I  had  con- 
fessed to  Father  Ragon  and  that  he  had  given 


60  Cbfffon's  .flfcarrfage. 

me  permission.  He  said,  'Well,  my  child, 
you  are  satisfied  with  Father  Ragon;'  but  I 
was  not  very  enthusiastic  for  fear  of  wound- 
ing him.  He  told  me  to  go  to  him  in  the 
future,  for  he  had  never  seen  any  one  in  the 
confessional  as  stupid  as  I  was." 

"  Did  he  say  stupid?  He  learned  that 
from  me,"  Coryse  said  with  a  laugh.  "  The 
poor  abbe  is  so  good  and  so  funny !" 

"  Don't  you  know,  Luce,"  said  Marc  de 
Bray,  "  that  you  should  not  tell  these  things." 

"Why?"  his  cousin  asked  innocently. 

"  Because  you  make  yourself  ridiculous, 
and  the  abbe  also."  Marc  thought  the  fear 
of  harming  the  old  confessor  would  induce 
her  to  stop  rather  than  the  fear  of  hurting 
herself. 

The  marchioness  said :  "  The  Abbe  Chatel 
comes  from  the  people;  he  knows  nothing, 
he  has  no  delicacy,  no  idea  of  the  world,  and 
naturally  Coryse  chooses  him  for  her  confes- 
sor." 

"  The  Abbe  Chatel  is  no  longer  my  confes- 
sor," her  daughter  replied. 

"  And  since  when,  I  beg  you  to  tell  me?" 

"  For  three  or  four  years — since  you  took 


Cbfffon's  jflBarrfage.  61 

no  longer  any  interest  in  me,  and  I  had  to  go 
out  with  John;  since  my  first  communion." 

"  Oh  1"  her  mother  replied,  feeling  ashamed 
of  her  ignorance  of  her  child's  movements; 
"  you  go  to  his  house  continually.  What  is 
it  for,  if  not  to  confess?" 

"  He  is  my  confidential  friend.  I  love  him 
dearly ;  he  is  true  and  safe,  and  I  tell  him  all 
my  little  troubles— those  that  I  should  tell 
you." 

Her  mother,  much  vexed,  asked  to  whom 
she  confessed  at  present? 

She  replied,  "  To  no  one." 

And,  noticing  her  mother's  expression,  she 
added :  "  To  every  one,  if  you  wish  to  know ; 
sometimes  to  one  and  sometimes  to  another. 
I  go  to  St.  Marcien,  to  the  cathedral,  to  the 
new  chapel,  to  Our  Lady  of  the  Lilies — in- 
deed I  go  around  to  all  the  parishes,  and 
as  there  are  at  least  three  priests  to  every 
parish  I  have  a  good  margin.  I  confess 
about  six  times  a  year;  that  will  do  for  a 
long  time,  and  when  I  have  finished  I  begin 
again." 

"  This  child  is  mad!  absolutely  mad!"  the 
marchioness  cried  out,  and  with  a  sad  air, 


63  Cbiffon's  Carriage. 

"  She  goes  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  in- 
stead  of  choosing  an  intelligent  director." 

"A  director  indeed!  that  is  just  what  1 
don't  want.  I  do  what  I  think  right  as  I 
understand  it.  We  are  told  to  confess,  but 
not  ordered  to  give  up  our  lives  to  it.  To 
those  also  that  we  meet  in  society,  away 
from  the  church — it  is  horrible  to  me  to  mix 
these  relations  as  salad.  I  find  it  grotesque 
and  disgusting." 

"This  is  absurd,"  the  marchioness  said. 
"  You  might  as  well  not  consult  a  doctor  foi 
fear  of  meeting  him  in  society." 

"  This  is  not  a  parallel  case." 

"It  is  exactly  the  same  thing:  to  one  you 
show  your  soul,  to  the  other  your  body, 
which  is  worse?" 

"Very  well;  as  far  as  I  am  concerned  1 
would  rather  it  should  be  my  body  than  my 
soul." 

"  Say  no  more,"  her  mother  commanded 
with  one  of  her  dramatic  gestures;  "  you  are 
a  horrible  creature,  a  girl  without  modesty." 

Coryse  replied  gently :  "  I  understand  mod- 
esty differently.  Oh,  it  is  a  funny  word!  I 
don't  like  to  use  it.  \Vhat  a  hateful  sound  1" 


Gbifton'0  /iBarrfacje,  68 

"  Hush !  I  charge  you  to  hush !" 

"  Charge  you !"  Coryse  looked  with  a  satiri- 
cal smile  tipon  her  uncle's  frank  face,  while 
the  fury  of  his  sister-in-law  was  turned  upon 
him: 

"Yes!  you  may  laugh!  That  comes  well 
from  you  who  are  responsible  in  part  for  this 
tone  which  Coryse  assumes." 

Marc  de  Bray  did  not  reply,  as  usual  in 
these  cases;  and  the  marchioness,  made 
more  furious  by  his  silence,  went  on:  "Yes 
— it  is  well  that  you  are  silent, — as  you  are 
the  cause  of  my  learning  nothing  from  this 
child;  it  is  true  that  her  nature  is  bad, 
but " 

Madame  de  Givry  rose  to  go,  anticipating 
a  scene,  and  turning  toward  Coryse  (not  dar- 
ing to  address  Madame  de  Bray)  said :  "  I 
am  so  distressed ;  it  is  all  my  fault.  I  spoke 
of  the  Abbe  Chatel  and  all  this  has  fol- 
lowed." 

"  Oh,  indeed !"  Coryse  said,  looking  at  her 
mother,  "  this  happens  always ;  you  did  not 
bring  it  about." 

She  wanted  to  escape  and  ran  behind  her 
cousin,  but  the  marchioness  called  her  with  a 


64  Cbffton's  dfcarriage* 

voice  more  shrill  than  ever  to  remain  in  the 
room ;  she  wanted  to  speak  to  her. 

Without  saying  a  word  Chiffon  took  her 
seat. 

Her  mother  then  asked  what  answer  should 
be  given  to  the  Duke  d'Aubieres. 

"  None.     I  will  answer  him  myself." 

"  But  I  am  your  mother  and  have  a  right  to 
know  your  decision." 

"  I  have  not  decided  to  marry  M.  d'Aubieres 
and  I  am  sorry,  for  I  like  him — so  much." 

"This  is  madness!  You  will  never  have 
such  an  opportunity  again." 

"  Very  well ;  I  repeat,  it  would  be  wrong 
in  me  to  say  yes  against  my  heart.  I  have 
thought  well  upon  it  and  I  have  decided " 

"  It  is  the  Abbe  Chatel  who  has  prompted 
you  to  do  this?" 

"  I  have  explained  all  this  to  the  abbe  and 
he  approves  entirely,  but  suggested  nothing; 
on  the  contrary  he  advised  me  to  wait  a  little 
longer  before  deciding." 

The  marchioness  thought  a  moment  and, 
turning  to  her  daughter,  became  pathetically 
tender: 

"  Corysande !    my  beloved  child !    I  have 


Cbfffon's  dBarrfage,  65 

only  you  in  the  world;  you  are  my  only  love 
at\d  joy.  I  have  lived  only  for  you, — since 
the  day  of  your  birth." 

Chiffon  was  accustomed  to  her  mother's 
poetical  flights,  yet  always  felt  a  vague  sur- 
prise in  the  presence  of  this  formidable 
woman.  She  listened,  mouth  open,  eyes 
glistening,  but  with  head  bent,  fearing  that 
she  might  laugh  if  she  encountered  the 
marchioness's  amazed  expression  and  Uncle 
Marc's  jocular  look. 

Her  mother  added:  "You  have  always 
been  an  ungrateful  child  and  I  expect  noth- 
ing from  you,  but  for  your  own  interest  I  beg 
you  to  reflect  and  not  decide  so  quickly." 

Chiffon  told  her  that  she  had  thought 
deeply  on  the  matter,  and  all  those  that 
she  had  consulted  told  her  to  decide  for  her- 
self. 

The  marchioness  wrung  her  hands  tragi- 
cally. "  I  beg  you  for  the  last  time  to  wait 
before  replying,  and  talk  the  matter  over 
with  intelligent  people;"  with  an  indifferent 
air,  "  Father  Ragon,  for  example !" 

"Indeed!"  Coryse  said,  half  laughing  and 
half  angry,  "  you  think  he  will  find  it  q, 
5 


66  Cbiffon's  Carriage. 

"subtle  case — something  like  the  De  Luce 
ball?" 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  get  on  my  knees  to 
you?" 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  don't  wish  that !  I  will 
see  Father  Ragon  when  you  wish.  I  don't 
care !  only  it  was  easier  for  him  to  stop  the 
affairs  of  De  Luce  and  of  God  than  those  of 
M.  d'Aubieres  and  myself." 

"  Will  you  promise  me  to  go  and  see  Father 
Ragon  to-day?" 

"  Yes,  I  promise  you." 

"Will  you  listen  to  his  advice?". 

"  I  will  listen,  but  don't  say  that  I  will  fol- 
low it." 

"  What  did  you  say  to  M.  d'Aubieres  yes- 
terday afternoon?" 

"I  told  him  the  truth — that  I  loved  him 
very  much,  but  not  enough  to  marry  him; 
but  I  would  reflect  upon  it." 

"  And  what  did  he  say?" 

"  He  kissed  me,  and  that  was  very  disagree- 
able." 

"Because  it  was  the  first  time,  and  it 
frightened  you?" 

"No,  indeed;  not  the  least  in  the  world. 


Cbiffon's  flBarrtagc.  67 


It  had  a  very  overpowering  effect  upon  me, 
that  was  all;  and  to  show  that  I  was  not 
frightened  I  told  him  of  this  effect." 

"  Oh,  you  told  him?" 

"  Poor  d'  Aubieres  1"  Uncle  Marc  laughingly 
put  in. 

At  this  moment  the  servant  announced 
breakfast.  Soon  after,  when  Coryse  was 
pouring  coffee,  Madame  de  Bray  went  out 
suddenly  from  the  library. 

Coryse,  noticing  this  sudden  flight,  said: 
"  She  is  going  to  take  a  lesson  from  Father 
Ragon  !  It  is  useless  —  I  have  a  horror  of  him, 
with  his  sly  expression,  and  smiles  borrowed 
from  old  coquettes  who  try  to  hide  their  black 
teeth." 

The  marquis,  always  kind,  tried  to  per- 
suade her  against  her  hasty  opinion. 

She  answered  firmly,  "  I  have  no  respect 
for  him." 

Uncle  Marc  and  M.  de  Bray  began  to  laugh; 
the  manner  in  which  Chiffon  talked  of  a  man 
so  intelligent  and  powerful,  who  led  all  the 
women  and  most  of  the  men  in  Pont-sur- 
Sarthe,  seemed  to  them  like  a  play. 

The  little  girl  blushed.     "  You  are  laugh- 


68  Cbfffon's  flfcarrlage. 

ing  at  me,  because  I  used  the  word  respect; 
it  is  a  little  pompous,  but  I  know  of  no  word 
which  expresses  better  what  I  think." 

M.  de  Bray  protested.  "  Oh  no,  my  little 
Chiffon,  we  were  not  laughing  at  you. 
Come,  tell  us  all  the  Abbe  Chatel  said  to 
you." 

"  It  was  I,  rather,  who  told  him  something. ** 

"What  was  it? — the  proposal  from  M. 
d'Aubieres?" 

"Oh  no;  it  was  about  the  kissing;  the 
affair  of  yesterday  afternoon." 

"  Indeed !  so  you  call  that  an  affair?" 

"Indeed  it  was  of  importance  to  me!  for 
the  moment  he  began  with  these  things  I 
leaned  toward  'yes;'  a  little  later  and  it 
would  have  been  that.  But  it  all  fell  to  the 
ground." 

"  Why?" 

"  Because  it  was  disagreeable  to  me,  I  tell 
you,  and  as  I  thought  a  woman  was  obliged 
to  let  her  husband  kiss  her  when  he  wanted  I 
could  not  decide  with  this  before  me.  No,  I 
could  not." 

"  Did  you  tell  the  abb<§  this?"  Uncle  Marc 
asked,  who  was  greatly  amused. 


Cbfffon's  jflBarrfage.  W 

"Indeed  I  did!" 

"  How  did  you  tell  him?" 

"I  said,  'M.  Abbe,  M.  d'Aubieres  lias  pro- 
posed to  me,  and  all  at  home  wish  me  to  say 
yes." 

"  Permit  me,  my  dear,"  her  father  said — "  I 
never  wished  it." 

"  He  understood  that.  When  I  said  they, 
he  knew  who  I  meant.  Then  I  asked  his  ad- 
vice, and  he  replied:  'My  child,  as  your 
relatives  wish  this  marriage,  it  remains  for 
you  to  consult  your  heart  and  head;  they  will 
tell  you  better  than  I  can.'  I  tojd  him  that 
my  head  said  yes  entirely,  and  my  heart 
almost.  Then  I  told  him  that  M.  d'Aubieres 
had  kissed  me  in  the  garden,  and  I  wanted  to 
explain  to  him  the  effect  it  had  upon  me. 
Then  he  cut  me  short  with  'Enough,  my 
child,  it  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  know 
more.'  "Why  are  you  laughing,  Uncle  Marc?" 

"  Because  you  are  so  funny  with  ycur  narra- 
tions to  the  old  abbe,  who  does  not  under- 
stand these  matters." 

"  On  the  contrary  this  is  his  business,  and 
I  wanted  to  explain  to  him  the  funny  effect 
all  this  had  upon  me.  Yes,  I  told  him  that  I 


TO  Cbiffon'a  dfcarrfage. 

never  felt  anything  like  this  on  New  Year's 
day,  when  I  had  to  kiss  so  many  horrible 
people." 

"  Why  did  you  tell  the  abbe  that  you  kissed 
so  many  disagreeable  people  on  New  Year's 
day?" 

"  Because  it's  true ;  first  Madame  de  Glair, 
ville,  who  always  kisses  me  with  her  wet 
veil,  and  Cousin  Balue.  Do  you  think  him 
interesting?  He  had  not  a  wet  veil,  but 
threw  spray  all  over  you,  which  was  the 
same  thing.  I  do  believe  I  like  M.  d'Aubi- 
eres  best  of  all." 

"  Are  you  serious?" 

44  Serious?  If  you  think  I  am  joking  you 
are  deceived.  What  is  the  time?" 

"  Two  o'clock." 

"What!  already!  I  must  go  and  see 
Father  Ragon !" 

"  You  will  have  plenty  of  time;  his  confes- 
sional does  not  begin  until  four  o'clock." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  the  confessional;  I  am 
going  to  see  him  in  the  parlor.  Otherwise  I 
would  have  to  wait  too  long.  Four  o'clock 
is  the  hour  for  the  frogs  to  come  for  holy 
water.  Oh,  shut  op  F 


Cbifton's  dfcarrfage,  71 


With  a  long  slide  she  left  the  room,  and  her 
clear  voice  was  heard  calling  John. 

Uncle  Marc,  becoming  serious,  said: 
"Whether  Chiffon  marries  d'Aubieres  or 
not,  when  she  is  here  no  longer  we  will  miss 
her  dreadfully.** 


CHAPTER  V. 

WHEN  Chiffon  arrived  at  the  house  of  the 
Jesuits  it  was  nearly  three  o'clock.  A  storm 
was  coming  up,  which  darkened  the  heavens 
and  made  the  air  stifling.  She  told  John  to 
stay  in  the  garden  if  he  wished,  it  might  be 
more  amusing  to  him;  but  he  looked  around 
the  parlor  with  a  suspicious  expression.  He 
replied  to  her  in  a  hesitating  tone,  "If  it 
pleases  you  best." 

"  Oh  no,  come  in  if  you  wish,  but  don't 
walk  in  that  funny  way;  one  might  think 
you  were  afraid  of  falling  into  a  dungeon." 

"  I  am  not  afraid,  Miss  Coryse,  but  I  am  a 
little  uncomfortable  here ;  it  seems  as  if  the 
walls  had  ears,  and  it  makes  the  cold  chills 
creep  over  me.  This  is  worse  than  that 
cursed  Court  of  Justice." 

"That's  right,  old  John.  Curse  a  little, 
that  is  a  good  thing  in  this  house." 

Pushing  the  old  servant  out,  she  glided 
over  the  shining  floor  and  on  the  little  pieces 
73 


Cbfffon's  Carriage.  78 

of  carpet  scattered  about,  telling  him  to  go, 
that  he  might  do  some  mischief.  As  soon  as 
he  had  gone  she  made  haste  to  the  parlor, 
which  she  saw  for  the  first  time.  This  fine 
new  dwelling  which  the  Jesuits  had  built  at 
Pont-sur-Sarthe  was  new  to  her.  She  had 
only  been  to  the  chapel,  brought  very  unwill- 
ingly by  her  mother  for  some  elegant  recep- 
tion. Madame  de  Bray  thought  the  Jesuits 
were  not  only  good  men  to  know  but  also  to 
be  seen  with.  All  smart  society  went  to 
their  receptions,  where  the  best  male  and 
female  voices  could  be  heard  and  music  of 
the  best  kind.  Many  marriages  had  been 
concocted  there,  and  many  flirtations  also. 
At  first  Coryse  was  unhappy  at  being  dragged 
to  these  reunions;  they  bored  her  and  she 
thought  them  irreverent,  but  finally  became 
interested  in  these  intrigues.  She  knew  all 
the  little  religious  and  worldly  rivalries. 
She  knew  that  one  father  was  more  in  de- 
mand than  another  for  confessions,  and  that 
others  were  vexed  at  his  success;  and  also 
that  the  most  lovely  penitents  could  obtain 
an  entree  at  all  hours  to  the  confessional,  open 
to  others  only  at  stated  times. 


74  Cbfffon's  /Rarrfage. 

While  waiting  for  Father  Ragon,  the  most 
popular  of  the  worldly  fathers,  who  made 
many  wait  for  him,  Chiffon  could  not  help 
comparing  this  fine  house,  constructed  with 
an  eye  to  English  comfort  concealed  under 
an  appearance  of  severity,  with  the  dirty  and 
gloomy  house  occupied  by  the  curate  of  the 
cathedral  with  his  three  vicars.  She  said  to 
herself,  if  the  smart  set  of  Pont-sur-Sarthe 
know  the  way  to  the  one,  the  poor  know  the 
road  to  the  other.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the 
big  sums  brought  here  by  legacies,  gifts,  and 
alms  never  left  it,  while  the  poor  and  meagre 
sums  obtained  with  so  much  difficulty  were 
scattered  by  the  little  gray  house  below. 
Chiffon  hated  the  hoarders ;  the  little  word 
economy  which  she  heard  around  her  pro- 
nounced with  so  much  respect  appeared  hate- 
ful and  repugnant  to  her,  and  she  thought 
much  might  be  spared  from  this  new  and 
elegant  home  and  given  to  the  poor.  In  tak- 
ing a  rapid  glance  of  the  parlor  she  saw  the 
peeping-holes  opened  in  the  white  walls,  and 
they  reminded  her  of  shutters  in  a  bank,  and 
the  Jesuits  who  were  walking  rapidly  from 
time  to  time  through  the  room  seemed  like 


CDttTon's  abarrfaflc.  75 


employees  rather  than  priests.  In  this  con- 
vent all  spoke  of  the  world,  nothing  of  God. 

Soon  Coryse  became  impatient.  "  I  can't 
wait  here  forever.  It  is  nearly  four  o'clock; 
I  am  going  to  my  studies."  She  went  to  the 
window  and  saw  John  asleep  on  a  bench. 
He  had  seated  himself  correctly  at  first  as  on 
his  box,  but  gradually  slipped  down,  his  legs 
stretched.  The  fathers  who  were  passing  by 
could  not  quite  understand  the  old  man 
asleep  and  apparently  drunk.  Their  mute 
indignation*  amused  the  little  girl,  and  she 
got  over  her  fatigue  —  when  a  voice  a  little 
dry  yet  sweet  said: 

"  It  is  you,  my  child?  but  I  can't  receive 
you  just  now." 

"  Oh  !"  Chiffon  said,  "  I  thought  my  mother 
had  asked  you  to  let  me  come."  She  went 
toward  the  door  and  with  a  relieved  yet  ami- 
able expression  said,  "  If  you  cannot,  I  must 
go." 

Father  Ragon  stopped  her  with  a  gesture, 
saying,  "  I  can't  receive  you  here." 

"  I  beg  pardon,  it  was  my  mother  who 
wished." 

"  Yes,  your  mother  knows  that  I  receive 


W  Cbtffon's  flbarrfage. 

sometimes  in  the  parlor;  but  that  I  can 
scarcely  do  for  her  I  cannot  for  you." 

As  the  little  girl  did  not  answer  him  he 
went  on  in  the  same  clear  voice : 

M  Your  mother  has  told  me,  my  child,  that 
you  wish  to  consult  me  on  a  very  grave 
question." 

"Oh!  I  wish!  that  is,  it  is  she  who 
wishes " 

"  Very  well,  I  will  hear  you  in  a  moment, 
in  my  confessional." 

But  Chiffon  protested,  "  I  didn't  come  to 
confess." 

"  Very  well,  my  penitents  are  waiting  for 
me.  I  am  late  already." 

Coryse,  a  little  frightened,  saw  the  wait 
prolonged  in  the  chapel,  dreadfully  new, 
where  gold  glistened  and  the  startling  green 
of  the  painted  foliage  made  one  feel  like 
gnashing  one's  teeth.  The  eye  could  not 
rest  on  anything  sweet  or  tranquil,  where 
one  could  collect  themselves  in  prayer  in  the 
midst  of  all  this  whispering  and  noise.  The 
fear  of  this  delay  suggested  a  thought  which 
might  deliver  her. 

"A  will  go  to  the  chapel  and  wait  there. 


Cbiffon'3  flfcarrfage.  77 

It  won't  bore  me  to  wait,  here ;  those  women 
talk  so  loud !" 

We  must  believe  that  Father  Ragon  was 
not  anxious  to  deliver  to  the  mocking  ears 
of  Chiffon  the  confidences  of  those  she  had 
so  irreverently  called  the  frogs  at  holy 
water.  Suddenly  he  changed  his  mind,  say- 
ing, as  if  he  had  not  understood :  "  Come,  as 
you  are  so  anxious  I  will  hear  you  here;" 
changing  his  voice  to  a  quiet  tone  as  a  deaf 
person,  he  said,  "  I  will  hear  you,  my  child. 
What  have  you  to  tell  me?" 

She  answered  deliberately,  "I? — nothing 
at  all." 

"  I  thought  you  had  something  to  say  to 
me." 

More  accustomed  to  defence  than  attack, 
Father  Ragon  hesitated  at  first,  then  said: 
"Your  mother  has  told  me  that  the  Duke 
d'Aubieres  has  proposed  to  you,  and  that  you 
treat  his  offer,  I  will  not  say  with  repug- 
nance  " 

"  Oh  yes,  you  can  say  it;  go  on." 

The  Jesuit  had  never  spoken  to  Chiffon 
when  with  her  mother  except  some  little 
word  of  welcome,  to  which  she  would  reply 


n  Cbifton's  d&arrfage. 

or  not  as  she  felt  inclined.  There  was 
silence. 

"  Well?"  Coryse  questioned  simply. 

"  Well,"  Father  Ragon  said,  "  this  proposal 
would  be  flattering  to  any  young  girl,  and  to 
you  not  only  flattering  but  unexpected. 
You  have  no  fortune " 

"  I  know  that !" 

"  The  Duke  d'Aubieres,  without  being  very 
rich,  finds  that  he  has  enough  for  two.  In 
asking  your  hand  he  gives  a  fine  example  of 
disinterestedness." 

"  I  know  that  also !  and  I  am  most  grateful 
to  M.  d'Aubieres,  who  I  admire  so  much." 

"  What,  you  like  him?" 

"  With  all  my  heart ;  better  than  any  one 
who  comes  to  the  house." 

"  Then  I  don't  understand  why  you " 

"  You  don't  understand?  I  think  it  is  very 
plain !  I  like  M.  d'Aubieres  as  I  like  Madame 
de  Jarville,  for  example,  or  the  Abbe  Chatel. 
I  love  them,  but  to  marry  them — deliver 
me!" 

"  My  child,  I  see  that  you  are  ignorant  of 
what  marriage  is." 

"  Of  course  I  am,  but  still  I  may  have  some 


Cbtffon's 

ideas  about  it.  Should  I  marry,  I  want  to 
love  him  who  will  be  my  husband  differently 
from  the  way  I  love  the  Duke  d'Aubieres  and 
the  Abbe  Chatel." 

"  You  are  a  little  sentimental,  as  all  young 
girls." 

"  I  sentimental?  Only  for  flowers,  and  the 
heavens,  and  rivers,  and  I  love  to  throw 
myself  on  the  earth.  Yes!  I  am  sentimental 
about  those  things!  And  even  for  animals, 
if  you  wish;  but  for  men?  Oh  no,  never!" 

Positively  stupefied  by  this  style  of  talk- 
ing, Father  Ragon  asked  with  a  satirical  ex- 
pression at  the  corners  of  his  lips :  "  Who 
brought  you  up,  my  dear  child?" 

Without  appearing  to  see  the  irony  she  an- 
swered :  "  At  present  by  papa  and  Uncle 
Marc,  and  before  by  my  uncle  and  my  Aunt 
de  Launay." 

As  the  Jesuit  collected  his  thoughts,  he 
repeated,  "  De  Launay  ?" 

Chiffon  laughingly  said,  "  Oh,  don't  try  to 
find  them!  They  don't  come  to  you!  they 
are  not  that  kind !  They  are  good  old  people, 
not  fashionable,  not  in  the  swim.  They  go 
to  their  parish!  But  pardon  me;  when  I  in- 


80  Cbtffon'0  flfcarrfage. 

terrupted  you,  you  said  that  I  was  sentimen- 
tal; that  is  why  I  was  so  brusque." 

"  I  told  you  that  young  girls  are  all  more 
or  less  taken  with  some  ideal  that  they  con- 
coct themselves  and  never  meet." 

"  I  am  not  taken  with  any  ideal." 

"  That  is  a  good  thing !  for  you  are  in  full 
possession  of  your  heart  and  can  consider 
calmly  the  fine  future  which  opens  before 
you  if  you  marry  the  Duke  d'Aubieres." 

"Do  you  call  that  a  fine  future,  to  marry 
an  officer? "  I  have  always  detested  them. 
That  is,  the  officers  only ;  I  am  sorry  for  the 
soldiers — it  is  not  their  fault,  and  I  love  them 
for  that!  I  never  meet  one  overcome  by  the 
heat  that  I  have  not  the  wish  to  ask  him  to 
come  into  the  house  and  refresh  himself." 

Father  Ragon  gazed  at  Chiffon  bewildered, 
and  he  thought  that  Madame  de  Bray  was 
right  when  she  said  that  her  daughter  was 
not  like  everybody.  He  said  to  her,  assum- 
ing a  cold  and  formal  manner: 

"In  truth,  my  child,  you  speak  a  strange 
language." 

Coryse  excused  herself  with  tact:  "Yes— 
I  know  that!  but  I  can't  help  my  instincts, 


Cbfffon's  flbarrfage.  81 

I  beg  pardon  for  shocking  you.  These  things 
shock  the  Abbe  Chatel  also,  who  has  more 
reason  for  it  than  you  have;"  and  looking  at 
him  she  added,  "  This  is  the  whole  thing. 
You  are  a  man  of  the  world,  and  I  am  not !" 

"Now,"  the  Jesuit  said,  who  could  with 
difficulty  restrain  his  laughter,  "do  you 
feel  now,  my  child,  as  if  you  could  reflect 
before  refusing  this  marriage? — and  listen  to 
my  advice?" 

"Reflection  would  serve  me  nothing  I 
When  I  reflect  I  go  to  sleep !  and  the  more  I 
think  the  more  I  say  No.  There  is  no  ad- 
vantage in  thinking  about  it,  and  as  to  fol- 
lowing your  advice,  will  you  let  me  talk 
frankly  to  you?" 

"  Yes,  you  may." 

"  Very  well ;  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should 
follow  your  advice, — you  don't  know  me; 
you  have  seen  little  of  me,  and  moreover  you 
are  so  shocked  at  my  ideas  that  you  are 
ready  to  scream!"  Seeing  that  the  Jesuit 
made  a  movement  of  protestation,  "  Yes,  I  am 
right;  you  have  no  reason  to  be  interested  in 
me.  All  you  say  is  because  my  mother  has 
asked  you  to  say  it — foolishly." 
6 


83  Cbfffon's  flfcarrfage. 

"I  say  these  things  because  it  is  my 
advice." 

"  Oh,  it  is  your  advice,  because  my  mother 
has  told  you  that  I  have  no  future  and  could 
only  make  a  bad  marriage,  and  this  would 
be  superb!  Now  under  this  pretext  you 
advise  me  to  marry  a  man  that  I  cannot 
love  and  with  whom  I  could  never  pass  my 
life." 

"My  child,  you  are  wrong;  it  is  because 
the  Duke  d'Aubieres  is  a  man  of  birth  and 
honor,  good  also.  I  would  advise  you  in  the 
same  way  if  you  were  rich." 

"  Oh,  don't  tell  me  this!  If  I  was  rich,  in- 
stead of  urging  this  marriage  with  d'Au- 
bieres you  would  be  keeping  me  for " 

As  she  was  then  silent  Father  Ragon  asked 
for  whom? 

"  For  one  of  your  old  scholars  who  had  lost 
everything,  or  who  had  been  gambling,  or 
any  of  those  kind  of  men.  I  see  what  is 
going  on  at  Pont-sur-Sarthe,  and  I  rejoice  in 
not  having  money.  You  know  how  to  take 
care  of  your  own  ! — you  are  not  lazy !" 

Chiffon,  thinking  she  had  spoken  too 
plainly,  raised  her  eyes  kindly  to  the  Jesuit 


Cbttton'0  Carriage,  8S 

Her  beautiful  and  distinguished  face  was  oil 
the  contrary  softened. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  looking  at  the  little 
girl  with  a  benevolent  expression.  "  It  seems 
to  me,  from  what  I  can  guess,  that  those  who 
are  not  lazy  ought  to  please  you.  You  ought 
to  love  those  who  try  to  raise  others." 

"  Yes,  I  do — if  it  is  an  individual,  not  a 
corporation." 

Father  Ragon,  astonished,  looked  at  Chif- 
fon and  said  nothing.  Since  he  came  to 
Pont-sur-Sarthe  this  little  urchin  of  sixteen 
was  the  first  thinking  being  he  had  met. 
Seeing  that  the  child  took  his  silence  for  dis- 
missal, and  was  going,  he  asked  her  if  she 
had  read  much. 

"  No,  not  much." 

"  Then  you  have  thought  a  great  deal  upon 
serious  subjects." 

"Oh  yes;  when  on  horseback  I  think  of 
many  things.  I  can't  go  to  sleep,  so  I  think, 
but  it  is  involuntary." 

"  The  result  of  these  reflections  is  that  you 
dislike  our  order?" 

"  Oh,  you  don't  strike  me  as  an  order — I 
mean  a  religious  one.  The  Dominicans,  the 


84  Cbiffon's 

Capucines,  the  Oratorians,  these  I  call  orders. 
They  occupy  themselves  with  thoughts  of 
God,  they  preach.  You  are  like  a  political 
association,  and  also  interest  yourselves  in 
marriages.  You  frighten  me! — and  the  Lord 
knows  very  few  can  do  that." 

"  I  can  assure  you,  my  child,  that  we  work 
for  the  good  and  salvation  of  humanity." 

"Their  good  on  the  earth,  I  know;  their 
future  salvation  I  don't  think  interests  you 
much.  Then  humanity  for  you  means  men 
and  women  of  the  world.  This  is  just  like 
my  mother.  I  know  all  about  it." 

"  I  see  that  you  are  determined  to  take  part 
against  us,  and  you  are  wrong." 

"Oh!"  Chiffon  said  politely,  "not  more 
against  you  than  the  Freemasons,  or  the 
Polytecnicians,  who  carry  their  monomania 
through  life.  I  hate  men  who  mass  them- 
selves to  ruin  the  few." 

"  This  hatred  can  lead  one  very  far." 

"When  I  used  to  go  shopping  with  my 
nurse,  and  I  would  hear  the  poor  little  shop- 
keepers complaining  that  they  were  ruined 
by  the  big  stores  in  the  Rue  de  Benedic- 
tines and  the  Place  Carnot, — when  I  would 


Cbfffon'0  fl&arrfage.  85 


see  them  one  by  one  closed,  I  was  furious 
about  these  big  houses  swallowing  up  the 
little  ones,  and  I  would  at  night  pray  to  God 
that  He  would  destroy  them  all  in  the  night." 

"  This  was  a  wicked  thought." 

"  Perhaps,  but  I  could  not  help  it.  I  didn't 
tell  this  to  Uncle  Albert  and  Aunt  Matilda; 
they  would  not  have  understood  it,  and  I 
never  spoke  to  them  of  these  thoughts  or  to 
other  people." 

"I  hope  not  now  either." 

"  Oh  yes,  now  I  tell  them  to  Uncle  Marc, 
and  also  to  the  Abbe  Chatel." 

"  I  see,"  the  Jesuit  said  with  a  smile;  "  the 
Viscount  de  Bray  is  a  Socialist  —  or  at  least 
he  was  presented  as  such  at  the  last  elec- 
tions?" 

"  No  !"  Chiffon  answered  brusquely,  who 
could  not  bear  any  reflection  upon  her  Uncle 
Marc  ;  "  you  are  mistaken  !  M.  de  Bray,  who 
is  really  what  you  call  a  Socialist,  did  not 
depend  on  that  for  his  election.  He  pre- 
sented himself  without  any  formality." 

"  And  he  lost  it." 

"It  was  the  candidate  protected  by  the 
priests  who  won,"  Chiffon  said  with  anger,— 


88  Cbfffpn's  Carriage. 

"yes,  it  takes  too  much  money  to  be  elected." 
Then  rising  to  go,  without  waiting  for  an  in- 
vitation from  the  Jesuit,  who  forgot  himself 
in  listening  to  this  funny  little  product  of 
modern  times,  so  different  from  any  one  he 
had  ever  met — she  added  a  little  satirically : 
"I  don't  dare  to  keep  you  longer!  You  are 
so  busy.  All  these  ladies  will  soon  be  tramp- 
ing to  the  chapel." 

Father  Ragon  rose  also,  and  Coryse  drew 
back  that  he  might  precede  her. 

"  Oh  no !"  he  said  smilingly,  "  you  are  not 
a  little  girl  now.  You  will  soon  be  Madame 
la  Duchesse." 

"  You  surprise  me,"  Chiffon  replied,  tuck- 
ing up  her  hair  which  had  fallen  to  her  waist, 
"  I  have  not  the  style  for  this  position." 

Father  Ragon  asked  who  was  her  escort; 
he  saw  no  one  with  her. 

" Oh  no!"  she  answered;  "I  have  not  been 
educated  in  American  fashion.  I  have  my 
nurse,"  showing  him  old  John,  who  was 
asleep  on  the  bench  and  had  slipped  down  on 
the  ground.  "  He  is  not  very  ornamental, 
is  he?" 

When  Chiffon  had  gone  out  of  the  gate  she 


Cbtffon'0  fliatrfage.  87 

returned  and,  looking  at  the  big  chapel  clock, 
said  laughingly : 

"  Half-past  five !    I  have  kept  those  frogs 
from  the  holy  water  1" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THEY  were  at  dinner  when  Madame  de 
Bray  entered  the  dining-room,  and  for  a  long 
time  had  given  up  waiting  for  her.  She 
rarely  came  in  time,  giving  as  excuse  the 
races  or  visits,  or  a  stopped  clock,  and  some- 
times a  carriage  accident.  As  soon  as  she 
was  seated,  she  asked  Coryse,  in  a  wonder- 
fully amiable  manner,  if  she  was  pleased 
with  her  interview  with  Father  Ragon. 

"  Oh  yes,"  Coryse  answered,  in  her  usu- 
ally indifferent  way,  "I  was  much  charmed;" 
but  after  thinking  for  a  moment  she  added, 
"  I  doubt  if  he  was  equally  pleased  with  me." 

"What  did  you  say  to  him?"  her  father 
asked,  somewhat  worried. 

"  Oh,  a  lot  of  things ;  conversation  varied." 

"  I  will  see  him  to-morrow,"  her  mother 
interposed,  "and  he  will  tell  me  all  that 
passed." 

Chiffon  said  quietly :  "  I  can  tell  you  every- 
88 


Cbfffon's  dfcarrfage.  89 

thing.  Nothing  occurred  of  any  great  im- 
portance. Why  are  you  surprised?" 

"  Because  you  seem  embarrassed." 

"  Why  should  I  be  embarrassed?" 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it." 

"  Nor  do  I.  You  wanted  me  to  go  and  see 
Father  Ragon,  and  I  went ;  that  is  all !" 

"  Did  nothing  disagreeable  happen?" 

"No;  he  is  well-bred, — too  much  so  per- 
haps. I  also  not  too  much,  but  enough.  I 
suppose  he  has  not  approved  of  what  I  said 
to  him,  and  I  am  sure  that  nothing  he  has 
said  convinced  me ;  but  apart  from  this  we 
are  as  before." 

Madame  de  Bray,  taking  advantage  of  the 
departure  of  a  servant,  asked  if  she  had  de- 
cided to  marry  the  Duke  d'Aubieres? 

"  I  have  decided  not  to  marry  him ;"  and 
turning  toward  her  Uncle  Marc  she  said :  "  I 
will  give  him  my  answer  to-night;  you  said 
he  was  coming." 

"No!"  her  mother  interposed  excitedly, 
"you  shall  not  end  the  matter  this  evening! 
It  would  be  madness  to  do  so  without  proper 
reflection."  . 

"I  have  reflected!    I  have  done  nothing 


90  Cbffton'0  dfcarrlage. 

but  this.  I  have  thought  so  much  about  it 
since  yesterday  that  I  am  almost  dead." 

"  You  will  wait  before  giving  the  duke 
your  final  answer." 

"  Wait?  He  shall  not  dance  attendance 
upon  me  any  longer.  There  has  been  already 
too  much  of  this." 

"  I  forbid  you  to  speak  to  him  to-day,"  and 
with  her  usual  imperious  manner  her  mother 
left  the  room. 

Seeing  that  Chiffon  went  upstairs  instead 
of  going  into  the  parlor,  she  asked  where  she 
was  going. 

"  In  my  room." 

"  You  will  remain  here." 

The  little  girl  blushed  and  said  plainly:  "I 
don't  care !  but  if  I  stay  I  will  speak  to  M. 
d'Aubieres  as  I  ought.  I  will  teil  him  truth- 
fully that  I  will  never  marry  him — never  I" 

"  Why,  you  are  crazy !" 

"  You  told  me  that  long  ago !" 

"  There !  the  bell  is  ringing !" 

"So  much  the  better,"  Chiffon  sighed;  "I 
am  anxious  to  be  relieved  of  this  burden !" 

As  the  colonel  entered  the  room  she  ran 
toward  him  without  embarrassment,  and 


CbffTcm'0  Carriage.  9i 

said,  "  M.  d'Aubieres,  I  want  to  speak  to  you 
a  moment  in  the  garden;"  and  as  they  de- 
scended the  steps  she  said  smilingly,  "  But 
without  any  kisses." 

He  followed  her  quietly,  but  felt,  notwith- 
standing his  love,  what  would  be  her  answer. 
Before  she  spoke  he  asked  timidly: 

"  Is  it  not  to  tell  me  that  you  will  not  marry 
me?" 

"Yes,"  Chiffon  murmured,  much  pained 
at  causing  so  much  grief — "  I  have  thought 
much  since  yesterday,  and  I  see  that  it  is  im- 
possible. I  love  you  with  all  my  heart,  and 
I  am  in  despair  at  my  obligation  to  tell  you 
this;  but  it  is  better  before  than  after." 

He  did  not  answer.  She  could  not  see  his 
face  clearly,  but  guessed  his  great  sorrow. 
Putting  her  hand  on  his  arm  she  begged  him 
not  to  suffer;  that  she  was  not  worth  it.  She 
said  she  was  high-tempered,  ignorant,  badly 
reared — all  these  vices  her  mother  said  came 
from  the  Avesnes  family;  "and  then  I  could 
never  be  the  wife  of  a  colonel,  nor  worldly 
in  any  way.  I  can't  talk,  or  receive,  or  be 
polite  to  people  who  are  disagreeable  to  me; 
nor  persuade  idiots  that  I  think  them  clever. 


S3  CbffTon'a  dfcarrfage. 

I  have  very  little  of  the  woman  in  me ;  T  am 
a  savage,  made  to  live  only  with  flowers  and 
animals."  All  at  once  changing  her  tone,  she 
said:  "A  propos  of  animals,  where  is  Gri- 
bouille?  I  have  not  seen  him  since  break- 
fast." 

She  then  ran  across  the  grass  toward  the 
stables.  In  a  moment  she  returned,  running 
and  followed  by  Gribouille,  who  was  jump- 
ing on  her  shoulders.  Turning  to  the  duke 
she  begged  pardon  for  having  left  him  so 
suddenly  and  m  the  midst  of  such  a  serious 
conversation ;  but  she  was  so  afraid  her  dear 
Gribouille  was  lost. 

"  This,  you  see,  is  my  bad  manners." 

As  the  duke  was  silent  she  looked  out  into 
the  obscurity  and  asked  if  he  was  not  there. 

"  Yes,"  he  stammered  with  a  choking  voice, 
"  I  am  always  there." 

He  was  seated  on  a  bit  of  turf,  and  coming 
nearer  Chiffon  knew  that  he  was  crying. 

"What!  are  you  crying?"  The  thought 
that  this  big  giant,  and  so  old,  could  cry 
never  entered  her  mind.  Stupefied  and  be- 
wildered, she  took  her  seat  near  him.  "  Oh 
Godl"  she  cried;  she  lost  her  head  and  could 


Gbfffon'0  Carriage.  93 

think  of  nothing  else  to  say.  She  thought 
herself  a  horrible  creature  to  torment  in  this 
way  so  good  a  man. 

The  idea  that  one  could  suffer  in  this  way 
for  her  was  shocking.  She  preferred  greatly 
to  be  in  his  place.  She  thought  to  herself, 
"  Well,  I  will  tell  him  all  my  thoughts,  and 
after  that,  if  he  wishes  it,  I  will  marry  him." 

"  Listen  to  me,"  she  said  in  a  clear  voice, 
which  moved  him  deeply ;  "  I  will  do  my 
best,  but  it  is  difficult  to  say  all  I  wish.  If 
we  were  in  the  light  I  never  could;  if  I 
could  see  your  face  and  you  mine  I  would 
not  dare  to  speak ;  but  don't  cry,  it  is  dread- 
ful!" And  as  he  seemed  so  sad  she  knelt 
before  him  and  begged  him  to  bear  it  better. 
Passing  her  arms  around  his  neck,  she  kissed 
affectionately  the  moist  cheeks  and  in  a  sup- 
plicating voice  said  that  she  would  do  all  he 
wished.  Forgetting  the  day  before,  she 
leaned  toward  him,  but  he  repelled  her 
gently: 

"  No,  no !  go  away  from  me !" 

Surprised  at  first,  Chiffon  rose,  saying  sadly, 
"  Oh  yes !  I  see  you  are  doing  as  I  did  yes- 
terday,"  and  she  sat  down  timidly  near  him. 


94  Cbtffon'8 

He  answered  with  confusion :  "  Don't  think 
that,  my  dear  little  Coryse.  You  cannot 
understand  my  feelings.  I  am  nervous,  un- 
happy ;  I  don't  know  what  I  do  or  say.  I  had 
a  beautiful  dream  and  have  fallen  from  a 
great  height." 

She  said  with  agitation :  "  If  you  have  had 
what  you  call  a  beautiful  dream  it  is  not  my 
fault,  is  it?  I  did  not  let  you  suppose  that  I 
was  going  to  marry  you?  I  did  not  lead  you 
to  love  me  except  as  a  little  joke,  did  I?" 

"No,  certainly  not." 

"  I  am  so  happy !  for  otherwise  I  would  be 
in  despair!  I  think  making  eyes  at  men  and 
trying  to  flirt  with  them  is  a  shocking  thing !" 
After  a  little  silence  she  said :  "  This  is  going 
on  all  around  us,  but  I  never  do  it." 

"  A  moment  ago  you  said  that  you  would 
explain  why  you  cannot  be  my  wife,"  the 
colonel  said. 

"Yes,  but  I  am  timid  in  explaining  it.  I 
guess  only  about  life,  and  my  thoughts  are 
not  of  much  value,  but  I  listen  to  conversa- 
tions, whispers,  and  certain  names  are  men- 
tioned, and  when  balls  are  given  at  the  house 
I  see  much  flirting  going  on — many  things 


CbHTon'0  flfcarrtage.  95 

that  are  not  modest.  I  don't  speak  of  young 
girls, — they  can  do  what  they  wish,  can  they 
not,  as  they  are  not  married?  No,  I  speak  of 
married  women ;  there  are  many  who  deceive 
their  husbands.  I  don't  know  how  it  begins 
or  ends,  but  I  think  it  very  bad." 

"  Yes,  very  bad !" 

"  Very  well,  I  am  sure  that  if  I  married 
you  I  would  deceive  you." 

"  But,"  d'Aubieres  said  hesitatingly,  "  why 
are  you  sure  of  this?" 

"  I  am  as  sure  as  one  can  be  of  anything. 
I  have  never  met  a  man  that  I  could  say  I 
would  care  to  marry.  If  after  we  were  mar- 
ried I  should  see  some  one  pass  that  I  liked, 
and  should  say  'That  man  I  could  love!' — 
think  what  a  blow  to  you.  Why,  it  would  be 
disastrous !" 

Notwithstanding  his  great  sorrow  the  duke 
wanted  to  laugh,  but  answered  gravely: 
"  What  you  say  has  happened  to  many  wo- 
men; what  then?  Why,  instead  of  letting 
their  thoughts  go  out  to  the  new-comer  they 
simply  lean  upon  their  husband  if  he  is  good, 
as  I  will  be." 

Chiffon  answered:  "  I  am  sure  of  that,  but 


95  Gbfffon's  jflfcarrfage. 

do  you  think  that  sufficient  if  the  wife  is  not 
good?" 

"  Why?  would  you  not  be  an  honest  and 
brave  little  wife?" 

"  I  would  be  that  if  I  did  not  meet — what? 
The  man  I  may  never  meet,  but  who  is  cer- 
tainly not  yourself." 

As  M.  d'Aubieres  betrayed  an  expression 
of  pain,  she  said,  enthusiastically:  "Yes!  I 
love  you  much  and  have  told  you  so,  but  not 
as  a  husband  and  I  am  sure  the  day  I  meet 
him  I  would  abandon  myself.  What  am  I 
saying?  This  is  indeed  an  admission,  but  I 
would  be  culpable  to  marry  you  without  tell- 
ing you  this.  If  after  knowing  what  prevents 
me  from  saying  yes,  you  still  wish  it,  you 
have  been  warned  at  least  and  can  never  re- 
proach me.  When  I  say  this  it  is  only  my 
way  of  talking,  because  I  feel  sure  that  this 
would  give  you  no  happiness.  But  at  the 
same  time  I  have  been  candid  and  never  de- 
ceived you." 

"I  understand:  you  would  be  wretchedly 
unhappy  with  me  and  I  would  be  miserable 
to  see  you  so.  I  must  renounce  what  has 
been  in  my  thoughts  for  six  months,  my  only 


Cbfffon's  flbarrfage.  97 

joy  and  hope.     You  have  told  me  most  deli- 
cately that  I  am  an  old  fool." 

"Do  you  still  wish  it?"  Coryse  asked;  "I 
am  sure  you  do." 

"No;  I  swear  not,"  murmured  the  poor 
man,  who  was  choked  with  emotion.  He 
wished  to  rise  but  seemed  buried  in  the 
ground.  "Wait!"  feeling  that  with  each 
effort  he  sank  deeper. 

Gribouille  understood  that  all  this  meant 
that  they  were  going  away,  so  he  began  to 
dance  and  bark  furiously.  The  duke  tried  to 
lean  on  his  hand,  but  it  sank  into  the  soft 
earth. 

"  I  don't  know  where  I  am,"  he  said  to 
Chiffon,  who  was  waiting  for  him  in  the 
walk.  "  I  feel  that  I  am  seated  in  a  hole,  and 
the  more  I  want  to  get  out  the  deeper  I  'fall." 

She  extended  her  hand  to  him,  but  she  also 
felt  the  earth  sinking  beneath  her. 

"  Do  you  know  what  this  is?  It  is  my 
flower  cemetery.  You  were  seated  on  it, 
and  as  I  buried  them  this  morning  the 
earth  is  very  soft.  Don't  speak  of  this  at  the 
house — they  would  laugh  at  me.  I  know 
that  it  is  foolish ;  but  I  love  flowers  so  dearly  I 
7 


98  Cbtffon'0  flbartfage. 

I  can't  bear  to  see  them  soiled  when  they  are 
dead." 

Since  Chiffon  was  quite  a  little  child  she 
had  always  buried  her  faded  flowers.  She 
could  not  bear  to  see  them  dragging  along 
the  streets.  The  idea  of  flowers  touching 
dirty  things  or  swept  in  the  dust  was  unbear- 
able to  her.  In  winter  she  burned  them  in 
her  room,  but  in  summer  she  buried  them  in 
the  garden  secretly,  fearing  a  scolding  from 
her  mother  and  teasing  from  Uncle  Marc. 

"  Don't  tell  this,  I  beg  of  you ;  no  one  knows 
it  now  but  Gribouille  and  yourself,  and  I 
would  be  so  angry  if  they  laughed  at  me, 
although  I  know  it  is  foolish." 

"  You  may  be  sure,  Miss  Coryse,  that  I  will 
never  speak  of  the  flower  cemetery ;"  and  he 
added  sadly,  "  this  poor  little  cemetery !  I, 
who  could  never  have  resembled  a  flower, 
came  very  near  being  buried  in  it  this  even- 
ing. Indeed,  my  heart  is  buried." 

"  Come,  you  will  soon  forget  all  this !" 

"  Ob  no,  but  will  you  let  me  out  at  the  little 
gate?  I  don't  want  to  go  in  the  house  with 
my  swollen  eyes,  I  would  look  ridiculous. 
Besides,  I  will  come  to  see  Marc  another  day." 


Cbftton'6  Carriage.  99 

"  Do  you  love  Uncle  Marc?" 

"  Much !  he  is  one  of  my  earliest  chums." 

"  Are  you  the  same  age?" 

"  No,  he  is  three  years  younger." 

"  Oh,  that  is  the  same  thing." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right."  But  in  kissing  for 
the  last  time  the  little  hand  so  firm  and  sup- 
ple, he  said  aside,  "  No !  it  is  not  the  same 
thing;  he  is  three  years  younger!" 

Returning  to  the  drawing-room,  the  little 
girl  acted  as  if  she  had  seen  Uncle  Marc  for 
the  first  time  reading  under  the  lamp,  and 
instead  of  answering  her  mother  and  father 
about  the  disappearance  of  the  duke,  she 
thought:  "Three  years!  Uncle  Marc  looks 
ten  years  younger  1" 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  next  morning  Chiffon,  hidden  in  the 
grass  playing  with  Gribouille,  while  waiting 
for  the  hour  of  her  studies,  was  surprised 
to  see  Uncle  Marc  approach  her,  who  said 
in  a  somewhat  vexed  tone :  "  Aubieres  has 
gone !" 

She  jumped  up  with  a  bound:  "What! — 
gone!  Where?" 

"  To  Paris,  poor  fellow !  he  needs  a  change." 

"  You  frightened  me.  I  thought  he  had 
gone  forever !" 

"  Would  that  give  you  pain?" 

"  Indeed  it  would !" 

"  The  grief  of  Aubieres  has  distressed  me, 
but  as  it  is  now  all  over  I  will  tell  you, 
my  little  Chiffon,  I  think  you  have  acted 
properly." 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  you  think  so ;  and 
papa?" 

"  Yes,  papa  also." 

zoo 


Cbfffon'a  flBarrfagc,  101 

*  Then  all  is  for  the  best.  Are  you  going 
to  ride  on  horseback  to-day?" 

"  No,  I  have  letters  to  write,  and  I  have 
great  news  for  you.  My  aunt,  Madame  de 
Crisville,  is  dead !" 

"  Oh,  she  is  not  my  aunt.  I  didn't  know 
her — nor  did  you  very  well,  as  she  lived  in 
the  South." 

"  I  have  seen  her  only  rarely,  but  I  am  her 
godson,"  and  Uncle  Marc  went  on  quietly  to 
say  that  she  had  left  him  all  her  property. 

'"All  her  fortune?  Why,  she  was  called 
the  Aunt  of  Carabas ;  it  was  she  who  is  so 
very  rich — poor  woman !" 

Chiffon  threw  herself  on  the  neck  of  Uncle 
Marc,  while  Gribouille,  imitating  the  move- 
ment, jumped  on  his  legs. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  happy !— so  happy  that  you 
will  have  so  much  money!" 

"  Stop,  you  will  strangle  me !"  Uncle  Marc 
cried,  trying  to  get  away.  "  I  have  told  you 
so  often  that  you  are  now  too  old  to  hang  on 
one  like  a  baby.  It  is  not  right." 

"  I  beg  pardon ;  I  am  always  forgetting. 
Do  tell  me,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  all 
this  money?" 


lot  Cbifton'0  /Carriage, 

"  To  begin,  I  am  going  to  travel." 

"  Oh,  are  you  going  too?"  and  leaning  her 
head  on  Uncle  Marc's  shoulder  she  began  to 
cry. 

"  You  are  foolish,  my  child." 

"  No,  I  am  unnerved — I  don't  know  what  I 
am  doing.  It  was  first  M.  d'Aubieres  who 
loved  me  and  is  gone ;  now  it  is  you."  Her 
tears  came  fast,  and  she  said, "  All  those  who 
love  me,  they  do  not  cry." 

"  Come,  my  Chiffon,  I  am  not  going  away 
forever;  I  am  not  going  around  the  world. 
Be  quiet;  France  is  good  enough  for  me. 
Besides,  I  have  the  spleen." 

"  Why  do  you  say  spleen  instead  of  home- 
sickness? You  need  not  be  ashamed  to  say 
this.  I  hate  those  English  words !" 

"  That  is  better,  Chiffon;  scold  me  as  much 
as  you  like,  but  laugh — that  is  what  I  love." 

"Now  you  can  go  into  politics.  The 
money  has  come  in  time ;  it  is  only  a  month 
before  the  elections.  You  have  time  to  bring 
down  the  disciples  of  the  good  fathers  who 
lie  to  the  workmen — who  lie  to  the  men  of 
the  world,  and  who  lie  all  the  time.  Yes! 
you  will  floor  them,  and  1  will  be  glad." 


Cbfffon'0  d&arrtage.  103 


Her  Uncle  Marc  laughed,  and  asked  if  her 
interest  was  for  him  or  from  hatred  to  his 
opponents? 

"  It  is  for  both  and  for  charity.  You  will 
do  much  in  this  way,  for  you  gave  so  much 
before  you  were  rich." 

"  How  do  you  know?" 

"  I  know  your  poor,  and  when  I  go  to  see 
them  they  talk  of  you  all  the  time.  That  is 
why  I  go." 

"  Why  do  they  not  talk  of  you  to  me  also?" 

"  Because  I  forbid  it,  and  tell  them  that  we 
live  in  the  same  house,  and  if  we  should  meet 
here  he  would  never  come  again;  that  he 
hides  his  good  deeds  from  others  as  a  robber 
his  thefts." 

"  What  a  funny  little  girl  you  are  !  if  your 
mother  -  " 

"  Yes  ;  does  she  know?' 

"  What?" 

"  Your  inheritance?" 

"  Yes." 

Chiffon  began  to  laugh.  "  I  suppose  she 
made  an  awful  face  —  while  she  thought  some 
of  the  money  would  be  left  to  charity  ;  yet 
she  hoped  that  papa  and  yourself  would  get 


104  Cbfffon's  dfcarrfage. 

the  rest.  She  must  be  in  a  great  state  of 
mind."  Then  turning  to  him  sadly,  she  asked 
if  he  was  going  at  once. 

"  In  a  few  days  only,  on  business,  but  I  will 
soon  come  back." 

"  Oh,  yes;  you  will  then  be  in  time  for  the 
elections.  I  will  electioneer  for  you.  Poor 
John,  he  will  have  to  trot  on  foot  and  on 
horseback !" 

When  the  viscount  began  to  laugh  she 
asked  him  if  he  ridiculed  the  idea  of  her 
electioneering?  but,  she  added,  "  I  am  very 
popular,  without  appearing  to  be  so,  and  there 
are  many  who  dislike  you." 

"  Where?" 

"I  speak  only  of  Pont-sur-Sarthe,  not  at 
Paris.  I  don't  know  about  that,  but  I  see 
everything  that  goes  on  here.  Except  a  few 
friends,  the  others  detest  you." 

"  But  I  have  done  nothing  to  provoke  this." 

"  Yes !  you  have  lived  alone.  That  is  an 
unforgivable  sin  in  Pont-sur-Sarthe." 

"  But  I  do  not  live  alone." 

"  Oh,  you  forswear  the  dinners,  balls,  mati- 
nees, the  receptions  of  the  fathers,  garden 
parties,  Thursdays  of  Madame  de  Bassigny, 


Cbtffon's  dbarrfage,  105 

because  they  bore  you.  I  am  glad  you  do, 
for  it  is  only  in  this  way  that  these  idiots  can 
make  themselves  popular." 

"  Yes — I  know  that  I  am  a  bear,  and  it  is 
wrong." 

"Why  wrong?  What  have  you  done?  what 
is  that  to  you?  Now  they  will  adore  you, 
and  will  ask  you  In  marriage.  It  is  not  a 
secret?" 

"  What?" 

"  Your  inheritance." 

"  No,  I  will  not  proclaim  it  on  the  house- 
tops, but  I  am  not  sorry  that  they  know  it." 

"Why?"  Chiffon  said,  "you  who  are  so  in- 
different to  the  opinion  of  the  world — why 
do  you  wish  them  to  know  that  you  are  rich?" 

"  Because  when  I  spend  money  for  my  elec- 
tion I  don't  wish  them  to  think  that  I  am 
sustained  by  a  committee;  this  way  of  doing 
politics  is  opposed  to  my  idea.  I  think  it  is 
not  clean." 

"I  don't  know  what  committee  could  sus- 
tain you,  because  you  have  independent  ideas 
and  have  not  attached  yourself  to  any  party." 

"  That  is  true,  but  they  accuse  me  of  it." 

"  That  makes  no  difference,"  and  the  beau- 


106  Cbiffon's  flfcarrfage. 

tiful  eyes  of  the  young  girl  shone  with  a 
peculiar  light.  She  declared  that  she  in- 
tended to  amuse  herself,  and  asked  what 
o'clock  it  was. 

Uncle  Marc  looked  at  his  watch  and  told 
her  that  it  was  a  quarter  to  nine. 

"  Then  I  will  have  time  if  I  hurry,"  and 
with  all  her  strength  she  called  John. 

The  old  coachman  appeared  at  the  stable 
door,  where  it  was  his  habit  to  remain  until 
his  little  mistress  should  want  him. 

"  Dress  quickly !  we  will  go  out  at  once. 
Hurry!  In  ten  minutes  I  must  be  at  the 
Place  des  Girondins." 

At  this  moment  a  servant  crossed  the  court- 
yard, and  Coryse  asked  if  her  mother  had 
gone  out.  The  servant  said  she  had  not,  and 
the  little  girl  thought,  "  All  is  well ;  I  feared 
that  I  might  meet  her,"  and  throwing  a  kiss 
to  Uncle  Marc  she  ran  off  laughing. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  Chiffon  rang  at 
the  gate  of  the  Jesuits. 

"  Is  it  not  at  this  hour  that  Father  Ragon 
says  mass?"  she  asked  of  the  brother  who 
opened  the  door. 


Gbiffon's  flBarrfage.  107 

"Yes,  but  it  is  over;  it  is  nine  o'clock." 

Instead  of  going  into  the  chapel  Coryse  re- 
mained in  the  garden.  She  walked  about  in 
her  little  blouse  of  pale  pink  batiste,  her 
bright  face  buried  in  a  big  leghorn  hat  cov- 
ered with  roses.  Looking  at  the  door  of  the 
little  church  she  thought,  "  He  will  go  out 
first  to  the  sacristy,  but  as  there  is  no  other 
way  of  coming  out  he  will  pass  by  me,  and  I 
can't  miss  him.  While  waiting  all  these 
women  will  go  by,  and  I  will  tell  them  the 
news.  That  will  be  so  very  amusing!" 

Forgetting  completely  where  she  was,  she 
began  to  dance,  to  the  amazement  of  the 
brother  doorkeeper,  who  looked  out  from  his 
lodge. 

Although  old  John  was  quite  accustomed 
to  Chiffon's  little  ways,  yet  he  was  surprised 
at  all  this  gayety,  and  said :  "  Why,  what  is 
the  matter  with  you,  Miss  Coryse?" 

She  stopped,  one  foot  in  the  air,  and  said 
laughingly.  "  I  will  tell  you  on  our  way  home. 
While  waiting  for  me  go  and  sleep  on  your 
bench  if  you  wish,  but  do  take  a  more  grace- 
ful pose  than  last  time." 

The  door  of  the  chapel  made  such  a  deaf- 


108  Cbfffcm's 

ening  sound  that  Coryse  turned  her  head 
around  and  saw  little  Barfleur  coming  from 
mass.  He  wore  a  blue  waistcoat  very  short 
and  tight,  and  trousers  with  big  plaids  of 
many  colors.  An  enormous  cravat  enveloped 
his  neck  and  rose  above  the  collar  of  his  shirt. 
In  this  costume  he  appeared  more  puny  and 
stunted  than  ever;  not  ugly,  however,  and 
distinguished  enough  in  spite  of  his  small 
stature  and  clothes  too  much  in  the  height  of 
fashion. 

The  little  girl  walked  in  front  of  him  and 
simply  greeted  him.  As  she  was  alone  he 
was  sufficiently  well-bred  not  to  stop  her, 
and  simply  bowed  and  seemed  waiting  to  see 
the  people  coming  from  mass. 

"  He  is  watching  for  Madame  Delorme," 
Chiffon  thought,  who  for  a  long  time  had 
guessed  that  this  pretty  wife  of  a  notary  in 
Pont-sur-Sarthe  was  pleased  with  him. 

Finally  Madame  Delorme  appeared,  and 
the  young  man  bowed  with  a  surprised  look  as 
if  he  had  not  expected  to  meet  her.  Chif- 
fon thought,  "  The  mass  is  not  over  and  they 
want  to  have  a  little  talk  before  the  others 
come  out," 


Cbiffon's  Carriage.  109 

Observing  the  pretty  woman  bend  over  to 
see  the  little  fellow,  who  just  reached  her 
shoulder,  she  thought,  "  How  funny  all  this 
is!  M.  Delorme  is  a  hundred  times  better. 
What  can  she  see  in  this  little  Barfleur,  who 
has  no  mind  nor  goodness  nor  refinement? 
He  is  foolish,  only  an  apology  for  a  man. 
There  they  go  for  a  little  chat  as  if  by 
chance." 

She  looked  after  this  young  woman,  admir- 
ing her  beautiful  waist  so  well  balanced  on 
her  hips,  and  thought,  "It  is  nice  to  be 
pretty!  I  wish  I  was!"  Madame  de  Bray 
had  so  often  told  Coryse  that  she  was  ugly 
and  ungraceful  that  she  really  believed  it. 

The  sound  of  voices  interrupted  her 
thoughts.  Madame  de  Bassigny  came  out  of 
the  chapel,  followed  by  three  women  from 
Pont-sur-Sarthe  who  were  seen  often  with 
her. 

"  Oh !"  Coryse  thought,  "  this  Is  a  good 
time  to  open  my  budget."  She  walked  slowly 
toward  the  group,  her  head  bent  as  if  in  con- 
templation of  the  little  stones  rolling  about 
at  her  feet. 

"  Oh,  this  is  Miss  Chiffon !"  cried  Madame 


no  Cbtffon's  fl&arrlage. 

de  Bassigny.  Chiffon  saw  that  she  was  quite 
an  object  of  curiosity  to  others  as  well  as 
Madame  de  Bassigny.  The  story  of  her  re- 
fusal of  M.  d'Aubieres  and  of  his  departure 
from  Pont-sur-Sarthe,  and  the  surprise  of 
these  women  that  this  little  girl  without  a 
cent  should  refuse  a  duke  with  twenty-five 
thousand  pounds  a  year,  had  run  through 
the  town.  They  were  jealous  of  the  little 
girl,  and  yet  felt  that  she  had  no  right  to  re- 
fuse such  an  offer. 

"  How  about  giving  them  the  news  of 
the  inheritance  of  Uncle  Marc?"  she  thought, 
while  the  wife  of  the  colonel  looked  at  her 
askance.  "  It  is  not  easy,  and  this  sort  of 
thing  should  come  about  naturally." 

"  I  am  delighted  to  see  you,  Miss  Coryse," 
Madame  de  Bassigny  said  amiably;  " I  was 
about  writing  to  ask  your  mother  and  your- 
self and  M.  de  Bray  to  dine  with  us  on  Thurs- 
day, the  fifteenth;  also  M.  Marc  if  he  will 
come ;  but  I  am  afraid  that  he  will  not  do  us 
the  honor." 

Chiffon  saw  that  her  moment  had  come, 
and  looking  attentively  at  Madame  de  Bas- 
signy to  note  the  slightest  change  of  expres- 


Cbfffon'a  /Carriage,  ill 

sion,  she  answered  in  a  clear  voice :  "  My 
uncle  dines  out  rarely,  but  in  this  case  he 
must  decline  for  Thursday,  as  he  leaves 
town." 

"  Ah !  with  his  friend  M.  d' Aubieres?" 

Chiffon  appeared  not  to  understand  her, 
and  replied :  "  No,  he  goes  alone.  His  aunt, 
Madame  de  Crisville,  is  dead." 

"  Oh,  she  died  at  Pau,  did  she  not?"  and 
turning  to  some  of  the  women  with  her,  she 
told  them  if  they  wanted  a  chateau,  Crisville 
could  be  bought  very  soon.  It  was  perched 
too  high  for  a  hospital  or  orphan  asylum. 
Every  one  at  Pont-sur-Sarthe  thought  that 
Madame  de  Crisville  would  leave  her  money 
to  some  charity. 

Chiffon  told  her,  with  such  an  innocent  ex- 
pression, that  her  uncle  would  not  sell  Cris- 
ville, but  live  there  himself.  And  she  added 
with  the  same  indifference :  "  He  inherits 
everything." 

"What,  he?  M.  deBray?  Why,  your  aunt 
has  loft  five  or  six  millions." 

"  She  was  not  my  aunt,  and  she  has  left 
more  than  this." 

Silenced  by  the  aplomb  of  this  young  girl, 


118  Cbiffon'0  dfcarrfage. 

who  was  ignorant  of  the  sum  of  the  bequest 
of  the  Marquise  de  Carabas — "  More  than 
that?"  Madame  de  Bassigny  repeated, 
stunned  and  vexed. 

They  left  the  chapel;  she  bade  Coryse 
good-by,  and  went  rapidly  before  the  others 
to  retail  the  news.  In  the  distance  Chiffon 
saw  with  joy  their  faces  darken  as  she  told 
them. 

"They  are  stunned,"  she  thought;  "lam 
so  glad  I  came." 

Suddenly  she  ran  toward  the  chapel,  as 
she  saw  Father  Ragon  approaching  with  his 
measured  steps.  "  I  won't  let  him  hear  it 
from  them,"  and  she  asked  politeTy  if  she 
could  speak  to  him. 

As  the  Jesuit  threw  a  rapid  glance  toward 
others  waiting  for  him,  she  said:  "I  won't 
keep  you  long;  I  was  too  chatty  yesterday." 

"No,  my  child,  I  was  on  the  contrary 
much  interested." 

"  You  are  very  good,  but  I  know  I  was 
wrong  to  speak  of  my  uncle  and  of  his  poli- 
tics; and  don't  speak  of  it  to  my  mother — she 
is  coming  to  see  you  to-day." 

"You  exaggerate  the  importance  of  this 


Cbfffon's  fl&arrfa0e.  us 

conversation,"  Father  Ragon  told  her  with  a 
somewhat  impatient  tone. 

"No;  I  gave  you  to  understand  that  my 
uncle  would  not  oppose  M.  de  Bernay  this 
time,  because  he  had  no  money." 

"  Yes?" 

"Well,  it  is  this:  he  will  do  so  now,  be- 
cause he  has  it." 

The  Jesuit  appeared  annoyed,  and  forget- 
ting his  usual  prudence  asked  squarely  how 
he  got  it. 

Chiffon  answered  with  her  usual  indifferent 
manner,  "  Because  he  is  the  only  legatee  of 
his  Aunt  de  Crisville,  who  died  yesterday." 

Father  Ragon  was  stupefied,  and  with  his 
mouth  open  seemed  dazed.  Before  the  ill 
health  of  Madame  de  Crisville  had  obliged 
her  to  go  to  Pau,  she  had  been  one  of  his 
penitents,  and  he  knew  that  he  had  dictated 
to  her  that  the  Jesuits  should  not  be  forgot- 
ten in  her  will.  This  old  lady  had  died 
neglecting  his  wishes  and  her  promises  ob- 
tained with  some  trouble,  and  had  left  her 
fortune  to  a  Socialist,  who  was  in  good  cir- 
cumstances— a  dangerous  man  whom  she  un- 
consciously armed  for  the  struggle  against 
8 


114  Cbfffon's  fl&artfage. 

all  that  he  had  respected  and  sustained.  He 
asked,  talking  to  himself  rather  than  to  Chif- 
fon, who  devoured  him  with  her  bright  eyes: 
"  It  is  an  enormous  fortune?" 

Chiffon  repeated,  "  Enormous !  half  of  a 
province — yes,  at  least." 

By  a  rapid  intuition  the  Jesuit  had  an  idea 
that  probably  Coryse  was  laughing  at  him, 
but  in  lowering  his  eyes  he  saw  her  at  his 
feet  as  smiling  and  indifferent  as  ever,  and 
he  was  reassured.  The  thought  came  to  him 
suddenly  that  Chiffon,  whom  heretofore  he 
had  not  thought  worthy  of  much  attention, 
would  become  an  heiress.  The  affection  of 
the  Viscount  de  Bray  for  the  step-daughter 
of  'his  brother  was  well  known  in  Pont-sur- 
Sarthe.  They  knew  that  he  loved  the  little 
Avesnes  not  only  as  his  niece,  but  as  his 
child. 

Assuming  the  paternal  also,  Father  Ragon 
said  to  Coryse :  "  I  am  so  happy  at  this  good 
fortune  that  God  has  sent  you.  Here  I  see 
truly  the  hand  of  God.  Yesterday  from  over- 
delicacy  and  scruple  from  fear  of  not  being  a 
true  and  holy  wife,  you  repulsed  the  Duke 
d'Aubieres,  who  asked  your  hand,  and  was 


Cbfffon'a  dBatrfage.  115 

willing  to  marry  you  without  fortune ;  to-day 
the  Lord  rewards  this  conduct  in  placing  }rou 
in  such  a  way  that  your  choice  can  be  guided 
by  your  heart." 

"  But,"  Chiffon  said,  not  guessing  the  drift 
of  the  Jesuit's  remarks,  "  I  don't  see  why, 
because  my  uncle  has  inherited  from  his  aunt, 
I  can  be  better  able  to  choose  according  to 
my  heart — admitting  that  my  heart  had  a 
desire  to  choose  something." 

"  It  is  very  clear,  however — **  Father 
Ragon  continuing  to  talk  to  himself  as  well 
as  Coryse — "  that  the  Viscount  de  Bray  will 
give  a  fine  dot  to  the  child  that  he  looks  upon 
nearly  as  his  own— and  he  an  old  fellow  with- 
out near  relations." 

Coryse  began  to  laugh :  "  Oh,  I  see  your 
idea.  You  think  that  the  good  offers  are 
over?  and  I  said  a  short  time  since  that  M. 
d'Aubieres*  proposal  had  given  me  more 
value.  Yes,  since  that  they  look  upon  me 
with  respectful  curiosity ;  what  is  that  worth 
now? — honors!  money  I  all  for  me!  Will 
that  change  me?" 

While  she  was  talking  the  Jesuit  saw  the 
little  Barfleur  sitting  under  a  tree,  and  began. 


116  Cblffon's  jflfcarrtage. 

to  exchange  affectionate  signals  with  him. 
Pointing  to  the  young  man  the  Jesuit  said  to 
Chiffon:  "That  is  Hugues  Barfleur,  one  of 
my  old  pupils." 

She  replied,  without  interest:  "I  know,  I 
have  met  him." 

Father  Ragan  went  on  to  say  that  he  was 
one  of  the  faithful,  coming  each  day  to  mass 
— "  A  great  soul !  who  did  nothing  displeas- 
ing to  God." 

"I  don't  know,"  the  little  girl  replied,  "if 
his  flirtations  with  Madame  Delorme  are  so 
pleasing  to  God." 

The  Jesuit  made  a  gesture  of  indignant 
protestation  and  sincere  surprise.  Until  now 
he  had  doubted  nothing,  but  the  inconvenient 
reflection  of  the  little  d'Avesnes  threw  a 
new  light  upon  a  thousand  details  not  per- 
ceived until  now.  Anxious  'to  stop  her  sus- 
picions and  serve  his  old  scholar,  he  said  in 
his  most  insinuating  tone:  "In  the  mouth 
of  a  young  girl  such  remarks  are  out  of  place. 
You  are  lacking  in  judgment,  my  child. 
Hugues  de  Barfleur  would  not  care  to  be 
amused  with  the  person  you  mention;  not 
only  because  his  principles  defend  him 


Cbfffon'0  dBarrfaac,  117 


against  that  sort  of  temptation,  but  also  be- 
cause I  have  reason  to  know  that  his  thoughts 
are  elsewhere." 

"  Oh,  indeed!"  Coryse  answered  vaguely. 

"  Yes  !  the  poor  boy  has  lost  his  heart.  He 
loves  a  young  girl  who,  I  fear,  does  not  return 
his  affection." 

"A  young  girl?  who  can  she  be?"  Sud- 
denly she  became  enlightened,  and  with  a 
burst  of  laughter  asked  if  the  young  girl  was 
not  herself.  Looking  at  the  Jesuit  with  ad- 
miration, she  thought  that  he  had  lost  no 
time. 

Father  Ragon  looked  at  her  with  smiling 
lips  but  a  hard  eye.  Then  she  excused  her- 
self: 

"  I  beg  pardon  for  laughing  in  this  way, 
but  it  is  so  funny  —  the  money  which  would 
hurt  M.  Bernay  will  be  of  value  to  M.  Bar- 
fleur.  It  will  not  go  out  of  the  house.  Ah! 
I  need  not  say  that  I  understand." 

"Miss  d'Avesnes!"  the  Jesuit  said  with  a 
cutting  voice,  "  when  your  mother  said  that 
you  were  a  young  girl  badly  reared,  she  was 
right." 

"  Right  to  think  it,  but  not  to  say  it,"  Chif- 


118  Cbiffon's  flfcarrfage. 

fon  answered.  Bowing  to  the  Jesuit,  who 
left  her,  she  tried  to  find  old  John.  She  saw 
him  quiet  on  his  bench.  Mechanically  she 
rounded  her  lips — but  stopped  a  little  fright- 
ened. She  thought,  "  I  have  not  whistled  as 
I  do  sometimes.  What  an  effect  it  would 
have  produced!" 

In  leaving  the  Jesuits  she  began  to  run, 
forgetting  the  old  man  behind  her  was 
stretching  out  his  old  legs  with  much  pain ; 
she  wanted  to  take  the  news  to  the  Abbe 
Chatel,  feeling  sure  that  she  would  enjoy 
her  visit. 

At  the  corner  of  the  Palace  street,  a  flower 
seller  was  stationed  with  his  little  cart. 
Chiffon  took  some  roses,  and,  always  in  a 
run,  soon  arrived  at  the  parsonage  of  Saint 
Marcien. 

If  the  parsonage  of  the  cathedral  was  not 
gaudy,  that  of  Saint  Marcien  was  indeed  piti- 
ful— a  little  hovel  at  the  back  of  the  old 
church  in  a  black  and  dirty  narrow  street. 
To  the  left  of  this  a  miserable  garden,  not  at 
all  what  might  be  termed  a  curate's  garden. 
The  Abbe  Chatel,  who  adored  flowers,  had 
transformed  it  into  a  bower  of  perfume,  this 


Cbtffon'0  Carriage.  119 

poor  little  corner  of  miserable  earth.  The 
servant  had  gone  to  market,,  so*  the  abbe 
opened  the  door  for  Coryse.  He  held  in  one 
hand  a  little  preserve  pot  for  the  moment 
filled  with  paste,  and  with  the  other  an  enor- 
mous brush  despoiled  of  much  of  its  hair. 

"  I  must  beg  pardon  for  receiving  you  on 
this  way,"  he  said  to  Chiffon,  who  greeted 
him  joyously.  He  explained  that  he  was 
about  to  begin  papering  his  parlor,  and  he 
showed  her  the  pieces  which  had  fallen  from 
the  wall  owing  to  the  great  dampness.  The 
furniture  can  be  summed  up  in  six  straw 
chairs,  an  old  broken  sofa,  a  good  clock  of 
worm-eaten  wood,  and  a  statue  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin  in  alabaster  resting  on  the  wall  above 
a  little  stand  upon  which  was  a  vase. 

"  I  have  brought  some  roses  for  your  Holy 
Virgin,"  Chiffon  said,  putting  the  flowers  in 
the  vase, — "  but  you  must  give  them  some 
water  quickly." 

"  Yes — very  soon." 

"  No,  at  once !  it  would  be  barbarous  to 
make  them  wait  in  this  heat,  and  you  know 
the  Blessed  Virgin  would  not  have  anything 
suffer  for  her.  Is  it  not  so?" 


190  Cbfffon's  /Carriage. 

"  You  are  right,"  the  priest  answered,  and 
filled  the  vase  from  a  spout  in  the  garden. 

Looking  at  him  Coryse  thought :  "  He  is  not 
distinguished,  nor  stylish  with  his  honest  red 
face  under  his  white  hair  like  a  tomato  in 
cotton;  but  I  like  him,  because  he  has  a 
beautiful  soul!  Instead  of  busying  himself 
with  pulling  down  his  poor  friends  and 
marrying  the  little  chippies  who  are  played 
out — he  thinks  of  the  forlorn  and  bereft  and 
of  the  good  God.  There  is  one  who  ignores 
pinchbeck,  and  intrigues,  and  flirts,  and  all 
that  fuss." 

When  the  abbe  returned,  bringing  with  him 
the  vase  so  full  that  the  water  spilled  out 
over  his  soutane,  Coryse  said,  "  Oh,  my  dear 
abbe,  I  am  happy." 

"Truly  so? — not  as  yesterday  morning?" 
He  took  the  roses  with  his  big,  awkward 
hands,  and  arranged  them  badly  but  with  in- 
finite care.  When  he  had  finished  he  took 
his  seat  by  Coryse. 

"  Dear  abbe,  since  this  morning  Uncle  Marc 
has  become  very,  very  rich !" 

"  How  is  that,  my  child?" 

"He  has  not  robbed  a  coach— oh  no!  he 


Cbtffon's  d&arrfage.  121 

has  inherited  the  fortune  of  his  aunt  Madame 
de  Crisville." 

"  Then  she  is  dead?" 

"  Naturally,  dear  abbe !" 

"  Oh,  this  poor  woman !  who  was  so  gener- 
ous to  the  poor  and  unhappy !" 

"  Uncle  Marc  will  be  as  good  as  she.  You 
will  see  how  many  poor  we  will  find." 

"  God  hears  you,  my  child !" 

"  But  it  seems  as  if  you  doubted  it." 

"No,  I  do  not,  but  it  would  not  be  sur- 
prising if  Marc,  who  is  young  yet,  should  be 
less  occupied  with  these  things  than  his 
aunt." 

"Young!  is  Uncle  Marc  young?" 

"  Well,  he  is  not  old." 

"I  don't  say  that  he  is  declining!  but  he 
is  not  very  young,  since  he  is  three  years  the 
junior  of  M.  d'Aubieres,  who  is  old." 

"  Tell  me  about  him,  my  child." 

"  Oh,"  Coryse  answered,  with  a  sigh  of  re- 
lief, "  he  went  this  morning !" 

"What!  gone?" 

"  Oh,  not  forever !  he  will  return.  It  makes 
no  difference ;  if  I  had  known  that  you  would 
not  have  been  more  excited  than  this,  I  would 


129  Gbtffon'0  Carriage. 

not  have  dragged  poor  old  John  here  when 
the  thermometer  is  at  thirty-five  degrees.  I 
would  have  let  you  hear  the  news  from  every* 
body." 

"My  child,  you  quite  misunderstand  me. 
I  am  happy,  sincerely  so,  at  the  good  for- 
tune of  your  uncle  and  also  at  this  great  joy 
it  seems  to  give  you." 

"  Thanks,  dear  abbe,  I  am  rewarded!  It  is 
nearly  twelve  o'clock." 

While  Chiffon  was  trotting  home  in  the 
hot  sun,  the  Abbe  Chatel,  in  arranging  for 
the  last  time  nis  lovely  roses  in  the  parlor  at 
the  feet  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  said  to  him- 
self: 

"  O  God,  protect  this  child  who  loves  you! 
and  I  pray  thee  to  give  her  happiness  1" 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

"  DON'T  you  know  it?"  Chiffon  said  to  her 
Uncle  Marc,  who  had  returned  after  an  ab- 
sence of  fifteen  days ;  "  everybody  is  down 
upon  you.  Your  letter  to  the  electors  has 
revolutionized  Pont-sur-Sarthe.  They  have 
this  idea  in  their  heads  I" 

"Oh,  I  don't  care!" 

"  Yes,  I  know  that,  but  for  me  to  hear  every- 
body striking  at  you  in  this  way — it  makes 
me  sickl" 

"  What,  everybody?" 

44  Yes,  all  the  old  bores  who  come  to  the 
house.  I  don't  know  why  I  say  the  old  ones, 
for  the  young  ones  are  just  as  bad.  There  is 
my  mother;  day  before  yesterday  she  re- 
turned in  a  fever  because  she  read  your 
treasonable  article  placarded  o"n  the  walls." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"  She  had  a  scene  with  papa — a  genuine 
one,  I  tell  you  P 

123 


134  Cbfffon's 

"  Finer  than  usual?" 

"  Oh  yes,  greater  than  ever  !*" 

"  Poor  Peter !"  the  viscount  said,  laughing. 

"How  wicked  you  are  to  laugh;  he  is  so 
good !" 

"  Yes,  he  is  good;  if  it  was  me." 

"  And  me  also.  This  only  proves  that  he 
is  better  than  either  of  us.  Chiffon,  this  is  a 
happy  life  for  me  here  under  these  conditions ! 
You  say  that  your  mother  is  furious  with 
me?" 

"  What  difference  does  this  make?" 

"  Why,  she  treats  me  as  if  I  was  a  negro ! 
She  has  always  done  it,  and  now  my  election !" 

"Yes,  but  there  is  your  inheritance!  If 
your  election  displeases  her,  your  inheritance 
enchants  her.  She  respects  money;  you 
know  it !" 

After  a  while,  she  asked  him  if  he  had 
finished  his  business. 

"Nearly." 

"  And  you  are  rich?" 

"  Yes,  very !" 

"  So  much  the  better,  for  M.  de  Bernay  is 
stirring  them  up  strongly,  and  you  had  bet- 
ter take  care  of  Mm." 


Gbfffon's  dfcarrtage.  185 

41  What  do  you  know  about  it?* 

"  I  have  heard  it." 

"  From  whom?" 

"  The  workmen  at  the  upper  furnace.** 

Uncle  Marc  began  to  laugh. 

"  So  you  have  been  talking  with  the  work- 
men at  the  upper  furnace?  Poor  Aubieres  is 
right;  you  are  a  funny,  good  little  woman T 

"  Have  you  seen  M.  d'Aubieres?" 

"Yes!" 

"  Will  he  soon  come  back?" 

"  Yes:  he  returns  for  the  races." 

The  breakfast  bell  rang,  and  Madame  de 
Bray  entered  the  room  smiling  from  ear  to 
ear,  and  ran  up  to  her  brother-in-law  to  con- 
gratulate him  upon  his  return,  telling  him 
how  delighted  she  was,  and  how  much  they 
had  all  missed  him;  "have  we  not,  Chiffon?" 

The  marchioness  had  never  been  so  ami- 
able before  to  her  brother-in-law,  and  she 
had  never  called  her  daughter  Chiffon  except 
before  some  new-comer  when  she  posed  for 
wheedling  tenderness.  Marc  looked  at  her 
with  surprise,  lowering  his  eyes  when  he 
saw  Coryse's  bantering  expression.  She  was 
laughing  behind  her  mother's  back. 


128  Cbfffon's  fl&arrfage. 

Madame  de  Bray  asked  if  he  had  seen 
husband. 

"  Yes,  I  saw  him  on  my  arrival." 

"  Has  he  warned  you  of  the  terrible  effect 
of  your  letter  to  the  electors?  My  dear  Marc, 
you  have  no  idea  of  the  uproar,  not  of  a 
flattering  kind,  in  connection  with  your 
name." 

"As  this  is  your  name  also,  I  must  beg 
pardon." 

"  Oh,  war  is  war,  and  I  have  taken  my 
stand.  To  be  frank  with  you,  from  the  be- 
ginning I  was  disheartened,  absolutely  as- 
tounded. Is  it  not  so?"  appealing  to  her 
husband,  who  had  just  entered  the  room. 
"  Now  I  am  somewhat  consoled  by  Marc's 
placards,  and  have  played  my  part  bravely." 

"You  have  told  me  so,"  her  husband 
replied. 

In  passing  through  the  dining-room  Chiffon 
whispered  to  her  Uncle  Marc:  "  Fine  fix,  eh! 
didn't  I  tell  you  so? — the  money." 

"Coryse,"  the  marchioness  said,  seating 
herself,  "I  don't  know  if  I  remembered  to 
tell  you  that  we  dine  on  Saturday  with  the 
Barfleurs." 


Cbfffon's  flfcardage.  127 

*  No,  you  never  tell  me  when  you  dine  in 
town." 

"  You  are  invited." 

"  That  makes  no  difference,  as  I  am  not 
going." 

"  Why  not?"  her  mother  asked. 

"  Because  I  never  go  to  these  dinners,  and 
it  was  agreed  upon  that  I  should  not  be  taken 
into  the  world  until  the  winter  following  my 
eighteenth  year.  That  will  be  in  two  years." 

"  Oh,  this  is  not  going  into  the  world !" 

"Yes,  it  means  to  dress! — to  show  one's 
self,  to  be  dreadfully  bored!  This  is  what  I 
call  going  into  the  world !" 

"  But  I  have  accepted  for  you." 

"  It  makes  no  difference.  You  have  prom- 
ised that  I  should  not  be  obliged  to  appear  in 
society  except  at  home  until  I  am  eighteen, 
and  I  don't  see  why  I  should  give  the  prefer- 
ence to  the  Barfleurs  this  evening,  and  not 
to  Madame  Bassigny."  She  added  laugh- 
ingly, "  The  other  day  in  the  garden  at  the 
Jesuit  College  she  invited  you,  also,  Uncle 
Marc,  but  feared  that  you  would  not  honor 
her  by  accepting." 

41  This  proves  that  Madame  Bassigny  has 


138  Cbfffon's  flfcarrfage. 

certain  moments  of  lucidity.  I  would  never 
go  to  her  house,  especially  now  that  I  am  in 
mourning." 

Chiffon  glanced  at  her  mother's  dress,  a 
frock  of  a  very  delicate  mauve,  so  undecided 
that  it  might  be  taken  easily  for  rose. 

The  marchioness  excused  herself,  saying 
that  it  was  only  a  mourning  of  three  months, 
and  fifteen  days  of  it  had  already  expired. 
"  By  the  way,  Marc,  &  propos  to  this,  I  want 
to  ask  you  if  a  ball  here  would  be  disagree- 
able to  you  on  the  Sunday  of  the  races?" 

"  Not  at  all,  if  I  am  not  expected  to  appear." 

"  But  if  you  should  stay  away  I  might  be 
blamed." 

" It  makes  no  difference;  I  will  not  go  to  a 
ball  the  month  after  the  death  of  an  aunt 
who  has  left  me  all  her  fortune.  It  would 
cot  only  be  heartless  but  in  bad  taste." 

The  marchioness  said  that  they  had  no 
such  motive,  and  she  wished  to  give  a  ball 
for  Coryse. 

"  For  me  indeed!"  and  the  little  girl  told 
her  that  she  detested  balls  and  the  world; 
she  could  not  even  dance  properly.  "  A  ball 
for  me  indeed  I" 


Cbfffon'0  Carriage.  129 

"  It  Is  just  to  teach  you  how  to  appear  in 
the  world,  and  it  will  give  you  a  taste  for  it" 

This  time  Chiffon  resisted  entirely: 

"  Come,  no  one  will  believe  this  story  of  a 
ball  given  for  me.  Every  one  knows  that  I 
have  no  power  in  this  house,  and  that  what- 
ever is  done  here  is  not  for  me !" 

"You  are  an  ungrateful  and  impertinent 
girl,"  her  mother  told  her  with  a  voice  so 
loud  that  it  seemed  to  vibrate  in  her  eye- 
brows. 

"No,  I  am  not  ungrateful,  but  you  had 
better  tell  Uncle  Marc  and  others  the  truth. 
The  ball  is  to  astound  the  simple  people  of 
the  country  in  letting  them  see  the  prince." 

Marc  de  Bray  asked,  who  was  this  prince? 

"  Oh,  you  have  not  seen  him  yet?  he  came 
eight  days  ago  to  Pont-sur-Sarthe,  a  live  true 
prince — one  who  will  reign  if  his  father  is 
not  put  out  before.  His  name  is  d'Axen." 

"  What  is  he  doing  here?" 

Before  her  mother  could  answer,  Chiffon 
said:  "We  don't  know  exactly.  They  say 
he  is  here  to  assist  at  the  manoeuvres,  or  to 
perfect  himself  in  French,  which  he  speaks 
better  than  we  do." 
9 


130  Cbfffon's  Carriage. 

"  What  sort  of  fellow  is  he?" 

His  sister-in-law  said  he  was  very  charm- 
ing; but  Chiffon  added,  "  That  depends  upon 
taste.  He  is  as  tall  as  a  boot,  and  black, 
very  black.  M.  Carnot  is  blond  in  compari- 
son with  him.  They  call  him  'My  lord'  and 
'Your  Highness.'  You  understand;  it  is 
delicious !" 

Her  father,  seeing  the  coming  storm,  told 
her  that  he  was  addressed  as  bis  title  de- 
manded. 

"  Oh,  that  is  all  very  natural,"  Coryse  said. 
"  I  speak  to  him  in  this  way,  but  some  are 
amused  by  it;"  looking  at  her  mother  she 
added,  "  Humility  is  not  my  forte !" 

Of  the  many  sides  to  the  marchioness* 
character  none  shocked  Coryse  so  much  as 
her  arrogance  to  plain  people  and  her  humil- 
ity with  the  great.  Often  after  crushing  a 
servant  or  workman  with  her  superiority, 
which  her  daughter  refused  to  recognize, 
Madame  de  Bray  complained  of  the  stupidity 
of  those  that  she  called  mercenaries.  Chiffon, 
both  amused  and  angry,  often  told  her  that 
if  they  possessed  the  qualities  she  desired  they 
would  be  ambassadors  and  not  servants. 


Cbfffon'0  flbarriage.  *»* 

Little  Corsye  thought  it  quite  right  t^  re- 
spect princes  when  chance  brought  one  near 
them,  but  quite  unnecessary  to  run  after 
them.  She  hated  constraint  and  loved  to 
live  alone  or  with  her  equals.  Then  it 
seemed  to  her  that  modern  princes  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  that  they  were  princes,  and 
that  it  was  in  bad  taste  to  be  constantly  re-f 
minding  them  of  it. 

Since  the  arrival  of  Count  d'Axen  in  Pont- 
sur-Sarthe,  the  marchioness  swam  in  joy, 
greatly  flattered  to  have  received  a  visit 
from  his  highness.  He  had  been  sent  by  M. 
d'Aubieres,  who  some  years  earlier  had  been 
military  attache  in  the  small  domain  ruled 
by  his  father.  Madame  de  Bray  was  obliged 
in  Paris  to  run  here  and  there  to  meet  such 
distinguished  people,  who  gave  her  but  little 
attention,  and,  totally  severed  from  all  this 
at  Pont-sur-Sarthe,  she  thought  the  heavens 
had  opened  when  a  letter  came  addressed  to 
her  husband,  in  which  the  colonel  announced 
the  coming  of  an  hereditary  prince. 

This  time  the  most  elegant  drawing-rooms 
were  completely  distanced,  for  the  Count 
d'Axen  knew  at  Pont-sur-Sarthe  only  four 


133  Gblffon's  flbarrfage. 

generals,  the  major,  and  the  prefect.  With- 
out pity  for  Madame  Bassigny,  her  best 
friend,  Madame  de  Bray  threw  her  head  in 
the  air  and  said  it  was  such  a  bore  not  to  be 
able  to  get  up  something  for  the  prince,  but 
he  refused  to  meet  any  one.  She  did  not 
wish  to  share  his  highness,  who  had  fallen 
so  providentially  in  her  hands!  There  were 
many  pretty  and  elegant  women  in  Pont-sur- 
Sarthe,  and  it  was  to  be  feared  if  the  little 
prince  was  once  launched  in  society  he  might 
be  unfaithful  to  the  house  of  Bray. 

He  at  last  forced  the  marchioness  out  of 
her  reserve,  and  told  M.  de  Bray  one  day  of 
a  ball  he  heard  was  to  be  given  at  the  Bar- 
fleur  chateau,  and  begged  for  an  invitation. 

"What!  a  ball?"  The  marchioness  was 
amazed. 

"  Yes,"  the  count  added,  "  in  dining  at  a 
restaurant  I  heard  something  of  it.  It  is 
not  quite  certain,  but  will  probably  be  given 
on  the  Sunday  of  the  races." 

Madam  de  Bray  was  furious.  "  They  can- 
not give  it  on  that  day,  as  on  that  date  we 
give  a  ball  to  the  prince." 

They  had  never  spoken  of  a  ball.    The 


Cbfffon's  dfcarrfage.  1*8 

marquis  and  Chiffon  looked  at  each  other, 
amazed  at  this  aplomb,  but  Madame  de  Bray 
was  not  in  the  least  abashed  by  their  pres- 
ence, and  turning  to  her  husband  asked  him 
if  they  had  not  decided  long  ago  upon  this 
date  for  their  ball. 

The  next  day  she  sent  the  invitations, 
showing  that  she  had  the  honor  of  knowing 
him  before  everybody.  Fearing  the  conver- 
sation might  again  take  a  disagreeable  turn, 
the  marquis  ventured  to  say  that  if  Chiffon 
would  not  dine  on  Saturday  with  the  Bar- 
fleurs,  she  had  better  write. 

The  marchioness  replied  in  her  decided 
manner,  "  She  will  go." 

"  I  cannot  go  if  I  wished,"  Coryse  said.  *  I 
have  no  dress." 

"What!  no  dress?  Where  is  your  pompa- 
dour? Does  that  mean  nothing?" 

"It  means  that  two  years  ago  I  had  a 
mousseline-de-laine  frock  with  little  bou- 
quets, and  that  you  call  it  my  pompadour 
dress.  I  have  grown  two  heads  in  two  years 
and  the  dress  has  not  lengthened  with  me, 
therefore  I  have  no  dress." 

"  It  can  be  lengthened." 


184  CbtSon's 

"  It  has  been  three  times,  and  it  cannot  be 
matched." 

"  How  is  it  that  you  have  nothing  to  wear?" 

Chiffon  was  angry,  and  said  that  with  five 
louis  a  month  for  her  toilette,  including 
shoes,  gloves,  hats,  riding  habits,  etc.,  she 
could  not  buy  evening  dresses. 

M.  de  Bray  intervened.  "  Go  and  get  what 
you  wish  and  send  me  the  bill." 

"  Thanks,  papa !  I  will  get  a  lovely  white 
dress  for  the  prince's  ball." 

Her  mother's  voice  was  raised  in  a  threat- 
ening manner,  "I  forbid  you  to  call  it  the 
prince's  ball!"  After  a  little  silence  she 
added :  "  It  is  understood  that  you  will  go  to 
the  dinner." 

Chiffon  protested  that  she  would  not. 

"  Well,  in  this  case  you  will  go  on  horse- 
back and  say  to  Madame  Barfleur  that  you 
dine  on  Saturday  with  your  Aunt  de  Launay 
and  cannot  accept  her  invitation." 

"  Oh  yes,"  Coryse  said  laughingly;  "  I  will 
tell  a  good  story  and  bring  you  all  in.  I  will 
go  and  dress,  and  if  I  am  to  return  for  my 
studies  I  must  trot." 

Her  mother  told  her  in  her  most  majestic 


Cblffon'0  /fcarriaae.  135 


way  that  she  would  permit  her  to  leave  the 
table  this  time  before  the  end  of  breakfast. 
"  Don't  take  this,  however,  in  the  future  as  a 
precedent." 

Coryse  replied  peevishly  that  she  would 
remain  if  she  wished.  She  could  send  John 
with  a  note  which  would  answer  as  well. 
She  then  resumed  her  seat. 

"  You  will  go  !"  her  mother  ordered. 

"No,  I  won't!  You  have  some  project  on 
hand  in  sending  me  to  the  Barfleurs." 

Madame  de  Bray  became  red  and  denied 
the  accusation. 

Again  the  marquis  tried  to  smooth  mat- 
ters. "  Come,  little  Chiffon,  do  as  mamma 
wishes." 

Coryse  looked  at  him  and  gave  him  a  touch 
of  warning  under  the  table.  It  was  too  late, 
the  marchioness  had  heard  this  common  word 
mamma,  and  was  furious  with  her  husband. 
She  turned  to  Chiffon  and  ordered  her  from 
the  room. 

"Yes,  I  will  go,"  her  daughter  answered, 
folding  her  napkin  with  affected  slowness. 
In  going  out  she  said  between  her  teeth, 
"Oh  I  if  M.  d'Aubi&res  was  not  so  oldP 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ON  arriving  in  the  court  of  the  Barfleur 
chateau,  a  large  building  of  brick  and  granite 
of  the  Louis  XV.  period,  Coryse  saw  the 
viscountess  at  the  window  of  the  ground  floor 
very  busy  covering  little  jars  of  preserves. 
She  was  so  deeply  absorbed  in  her  work  that 
she  did  not  hear  the  horses  on  their  arrival. 
At  first  Chiffon  thought  she  would  ride  near 
the  window  and  have  her  little  chat  there, 
but  feeling  that  this  would  not  be  quite  the 
polite  thing  she  dismounted  at  the  stables, 
where  she  was  told  that  the  viscountess  was 
at  home. 

She  was  shown  into  the  billiard-room, 
where  she  was  kept  waiting  a  long  time. 
Pacing  up  and  down  this  naked  room  without 
a  picture  or  a  book  or  a  flower,  she  said  to 
herself  angrily : 

"Is  that  Barflenr  woman  going  to  finish 
covering  those  jars  of  sweetmeats  before  she 
receives  me/' 


GbffTon's  /Barrfage.  137 

Finally  the  servant  appeared.  "If  Miss 
d'Avesnes  will  come,  the  viscountess  will  be 
happy  to  see  her  in  the  drawing-room.  I 
have  been  looking  for  her  in  the  park." 

Coryse  thought:  "No,  she  was  in  the 
basement,  but  thinks  it  would  not  be  chic  for 
me  to  know  it." 

She  trotted  behind  the  servant  through  a 
long  suite  of  rooms  which  looked  rather  bare. 
"  Oh,"  she  said  shivering,  "  it  is  not  amusing 
here.  Father  Ragon  and  mother  Barfleur 
are  mistaken  if  they  think  that  I  am  going  to 
marry  '  Two  farthings  of  butter. '  Oh  no !" 

On  the  arrival  of  the  Duke  d'Aubieres  in 
the  county  he  had  seen  little  Barfleur  stand- 
ing near  a  door  at  a  ball,  and  had  asked  Uncle 
Marc :  "  Who  is  that  little  man  as  large  as 
two  farthings  of  butter?"  At  the  Brays'  and 
other  houses  this  name  had  stuck  to  him. 

Coryse  was  shown  into  a  little  parlor,  bet- 
ter furnished  and  more  comfortable  than  the 
rest  of  the  chateau.  Seated  near  a  window, 
her  long  thin  waist  drawn  into  a  dress  of  gray 
foulard  with  yellow  dots,  the  viscountess 
seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  le  Gaulois.  The 
little  girl  thought,  "  It  is  strange — the  dress 


188  CWtTon's  /ifcarrfage. 

of  the  preserves  was  gray.  She  has  put  on 
this  fine  frock  to  receive  me.  She  has 
dressed  tip  for  Chiffon!  Since  Uncle  Marc 
has  inherited  money!" 

"  My  dear  child,"  the  viscountess  said  in 
rising  to  meet  Coryse,  "  what  good  wind  has 
brought  you?"  Without  giving  her  time  to 
reply  she  said,  "  How  lovely  you  are  in  your 
riding-habit !  What  a  darling !" 

"Darling!"  Chiffon  repeated,  glancing  at 
her  big  arms  and  large  hands,  and  all  her 
person  a  little  awkward;  "  they  don't  tell  me 
this  at  home !" 

Madame  de  Barfleur  was  not  abashed. 
"  Yes  you  are  a  charming  creature !"  She 
drew  the  long  band  of  old  tapestry  on  silk 
canvas  which  served  as  a  bell-rope.  "  My  poor 
Hugues  will  be  so  distressed  to  miss  this  lit- 
tle visit;  he  has  gone  to  look  at  his  horses  in 
a  field  near  the  sea.  I  will  send  for  him." 

"  Oh,  madame,"  Coryse  said  quite  energeti- 
cally, "  I  must  be  going.  I  have  my  studies 
at  four  o'clock." 

The  servant  came  in. 

"  Say  to  Master  Hugues " 

Coryse  explained  that  she  only  came   to 


Cbtffon'e  jflBarrfage.  139 

tell  her  that  her  mother  had  quite  forgotten 
her  engagement  to  dine  with  her  Aunt  de 
Launay  on  Saturday  when  she  accepted  for 
her. 

Madame  de  Barfleur  would  not  hear  of 
this  arrangement,  and  begged  that  she  would 
change  her  plans. 

Chiffon  did  not  answer,  but  listened  smil- 
ingly during  the  pulling  of  the  bell  for  the 
young  man,  and  thought,  "  It  will  take  him 
at  least  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  come  up  from 
the  river,  and  in  five  minutes  I  will  be  off." 

The  viscountess  insisted:  "  Do  come,  dear 
little  Coryse!  tell  me  that  you  will  find  a 
way.  You  will  be  the  soul  and  joy  of  this 
dinner." 

"  Me?  when  I  am  never  at  my  ease  or  say 
three  words." 

Madame  de  Barfleur  begged  to  know  why, 
and  Chiffon,  blushing,  told  her  that  she  had 
no  confidence  in  herself  and  that  was  quite 
plain.  Then  excusing  herself  she  hoped  to 
get  off,  but  was  asked  to  remain  to  lunch, 
which  she  declined. 

The  viscountess  rose  with  her  and  begged 
that  she  might  see  her  mount,  as  her  son  had 


140  Cbfffon's  Carriage. 

told  her  how  adorable  she  was  on  horse- 
back. 

"  This  is  detestable !"  Corsye  said  to  her- 
self;  "  they  are  all  alike." 

At  the  moment  that  old  John  led  the  horses 
to  the  steps,  the  Viscount  de  Barfleur  came 
running  into  the  court.  He  took  the  hand 
which  Chiffon  extended  toward  him  and 
kissed  it  most  respectfully.  Little  accus- 
tomed to  this  sort  of  thing,  she  burst  out 
laughing.  In  comparing  the  manner  of 
mother  and  son  with  "their  conduct  only  fif- 
teen days  before,  a  great  awakening  seized 
her  and  she  almost  thought  aloud,  "  This  is 
an  odious  type !" 

When  Coryse  came  near  Josephine,  her 
very  beautiful  and  high-blooded  mare,  the 
viscount  ran  toward  her,  placing  his  hands 
together  to  assist  her  in  mounting.  She 
glanced  at  the  frail  young  man  bending  his 
poor  little  back,  and  at  his  thin  neck  and 
enormous  head,  and  the  poor  arms  exposed 
when  pushing  back  his  plaid  cuffs  of  exag- 
gerated English  style. 

"  Surely  he  would  drop  me  on  the  road," 
she  thought. 


Cfctffon's  fl&arrfagc.  141 

Trying  to  be  as  gracious  as  possible,  she 
motioned  to  John  to  bring  the  horses,  saying 
that  she  was  awkward  and  mounted  best 
with  her  servant.  He  still  insisted,  but  she 
declined,  telling  him  that  he  had  no  idea  how 
heavy  she  was. 

She  placed  the  tip  of  her  boot  in  old  John's 
palm,  and,  bowing  to  the  mother  and  son, 
cantered  off  at  a  fast  rate,  showing  off  to  ad- 
vantage her  supple  figure  upon  her  beautiful 
Josephine. 

As  soon  as  Chiffon  had  left  the  park  she 
turned  into  the  wood.  She  wanted  to  gallop 
in  the  beautiful  green  lanes,  which  was  rest- 
ful in  her  excited  state. 

"  Oh,  one  can't  be  left  alone  for  a  moment! 
Two  weeks  ago  I  was  tormented  to  marry  M. 
d'Aubieres.  Now  it  is  little  Barfleur." 

She  was  not  only  annoyed  at  this  new 
struggle  brought  upon  her,  but  her  self- 
esteem  was  greatly  wounded.  The  proposal 
of  M.  d'Aubieres  was  flattering,  but  that  of 
M.  Barfleur  was  humiliating.  She  knew  that 
the  attentions  of  "  Two  farthings  of  butter" 
had  been  very  slight  when  she  was  poor,  and 
this  thought  made  her  detest  this  little  fellow 


148  Cbiffon's  Carriage. 

with  his  big  mustache  and  bandied  legs.  She 
thought  of  d'Aubieres  as  a  great  man,  but 
Barfleur  as  the  little  Barfieur. 

Chiffon  was  so  healthy  and  buxom  that  she 
recoiled  from  delicacy — she  began  to  think, 
on  the  way  to  Pont-sur-Sarthe,  "  If  he  should 
ever  try  to  kiss  me  as  d'Aubieres  did,  I  would 
slap  him  in  the  face.  I  could  not  help  it.  I 
don't  care,  but  this  is  going  to  be  a  tiresome 
affair;  if  I  refuse  him  my  mother  will  be 
down  upon  me.  It  would  be  best  for  the 
refusal  to  come  from  the  Barfleurs.  Oh, 
this  old  beast  Father  Ragon !  He  has  man- 
aged this !  I  am  right  in  being  afraid  of  the 
Jesuits !"  She  stopped  in  the  road  whitened 
by  the  sun.  "  It  will  be  dreadful  to  come 
down  this  way  to  Pont-sur-Sarthe !  I  will  try 
the  road  behind  the  furnace.  At  this  hour 
there  are  not  too  many  smoking  meat,  and  I 
hope  Josephine  will  go  by  gently." 

On  turning  the  mare  in  this  direction  she 
began  to  prick  up  her  ears  at  the  noise  which 
came  from  below  in  a  little  path  between  the 
wood  and  the  forge. 

At  a  turn  in  the  road  Coryse  saw,  a  hun- 
dred yards  below  her,  a  gentleman  talking  to 


Cbtffon's  /Carriage.  148 

some  workmen  seated  on  the  edge  of  the 
wood. 

"Oh!"  she  said,  turning  to  John,  "there 
they  are !  I  have  missed  my  studies.  It  is 
four  o'clock!"  and  winking  her  eyes,  she 
stopped  to  try  and  see  if  it  was  not  Count 
d'Axen. 

"  Oh  yes,  Miss  Coryse,  I  am  quite  sure  it 
Is  he." 

In  a  turn  of  the  road  Chiffon  lost  sight  of 
the  group,  but  soon  heard  their  voices  quite 
plainly. 

"  Yes,"  the  prince  said,  whose  musical  voice 
she  recognized — "  yes,  it  is  good,  this  profes- 
sion of  faith,  and  if  I  was  an  elector  in  this 
country  I  would  not  hesitate  to  give  my  voice 
to  him  who  has  written  it." 

Chiffon  turned  the  bend  of  the  road.  "  Oh 
it  is  you,  sir!"  she  said  no  more,  guessing 
vaguely  that  he  might  prefer  not  to  be  ad- 
dressed by  name  here,  and  he  thanked  her 
by  a  sign  in  his  reply : 

"  Yes,  Miss  d'Avesnes,  it  is  I." 

"  Look  here,  sir,"  said  one  of  the  workmen, 
laughing,  "  there  is  a  pretty  young  lady  for 
you," 


144  Cbfffon'0 

"  What  is  it?"  Coryse  asked. 

"  This  is  a  gentleman  who  says  as  you  do, 
that  %ve  had  better  vote  for  M.  de  Bray." 

Chiffon  said  with  an  air  of  conviction,  "  At 
least  you  would  not  nominate  M.  de  Bernay?" 

"  Oh  no,  we  would  not  do  that  again!" 

"  Ah,  well, — since  you  know  that  Charlie 
would  not  be  elected?" 

"  Yes  that  is  true !  but  I  cannot  get  over  M. 
de  Bray's  being  a  viscount." 

"  He  also  is  worried  at  this,"  Chiffon  added, 
"but  it  is  not  his  fault " 

"  Why  did  he  sign  his  placard  Viscount  de 
Bray?" 

"  Why?  Because  it  is  "his  name.  Would 
you  prefer  that  he  should  deceive  you  and 
present  himself  differently  from  what  he  is?" 

Seeing  the  number  of  bottles  and  the  sau- 
sages and  cheese  on  the  grass,  Chiffon  asked 
them  if  they  had  not  had  a  good  lunch.  A 
dark-looking  workman  got  up  and  pointed  to 
Count  d'Axen.  "  It  is  this  gentleman  who 
has  feasted  us;  but  for  him " 

Old  John,  red  and  perspiring,  looked  at 
the  bottles  with  a  longing  eye. 

Coryse  pointed  him  out  to  one  of  the  men, 


Cbfffon's  flfcarrfage.  146 

and  said,  "  If  you  want  to  be  very  good  you 
will  give  him  a  glass  of  something,  for  he 
must  be  very  warm." 

The  workman  glanced  at  the  bottle  and 
excused  himself.  "  If  we  did  not  offer  it  to 
him,  it  was  seeing  that  he  was  a  lackey,  when 
the  masters  were  here." 

"  He  is  not  my  lackey ;  he  is  my  nurse," 
and  Chiffon  called  him  to  have  a  drink. 

Old  John  came  forward,  saying  he  was  too 
thirsty  to  refuse ;  "  And  you,  Miss  Coryse, 
you  must  be  thirsty  too." 

The  workman  ran  to  the  brook  to  rinse  the 
glass  for  her. 

She  came  forward  with  her  glass  and  said 
in  a  clear  voice,  "  Your  health !" 

The  workmen  got  up.  "  It  is  rather  to  the 
health  of  monsieur,  who  has  treated  us,  that 
we  should  drink" — pointing  to  Count  d' Axen. 

"  And  I,"  the  prince  replied — "  I  propose  to 
drink  to  the  health  of  the  candidate." 

"  That  is  so !"  Coryse  said,  "  to  the  health 
of  Uncle  Marc !" 

One  of  the  workmen  asked  if  she  was  the 
niece  of  M.  de  Bray? 

"Oh,  yes,"  Chiffon    said,   looking  at  the 
10 


148  Cbfffon'8  dfcarriage. 

prince,  who  laughed  at  her  absence  of 
mind. 

The  workman  added,  "  Oh,  we  knew  you 
well,  but  we  don't  know  your  name.  Your 
friends  are  principally  those  funny  people 
down  there  in  the  city."  Turning  toward  the 
Count  d'Axen  he  continued:  "This  young 
lady  has  always  money  in  her  pockets  for  us 
when  she  passes  by  on  horseback,  and  at 
Christmas  fills  her  carriage  with  boxes  of 
toys.  His  small,  hard  eyes  softened  a  little, 
and  he  said :  "  If  all  the  rich  were  as  Miss 
d'Avesnes  and  monsieur  things  would  be  bet- 
ter. Many  of  them  doubt  this  misery,  and 
until  now  I  have  known  only  these." 

"I  also,"  Chiffon  added,  thinking  of  her 
mother.  She  then  asked  Count  d'Axen  if  he 
was  going  toward  Pont-sur-Sarthe. 

He  begged  to  be  permitted  to  join  her. 
"  We  had  best  take  the  road  through  the  wood, 
this  is  so  full  of  rolling  stones." 

When  they  had  gotten  into  the  wood 
Coryse  heard  the  voice  of  the  workman  who 
was  discoursing  about  her:  "  I  have  an  idea 
that  these  two  are  engaged!" 

Coryse  turned  laughingly  toward  the  prince 


Cbtffon's  dBarrfage,  147 


and  told  him  the  speech.  He  bowed  cour- 
teously. 

"  I  regret  that  they  are  mistaken." 

"  Do  you  regret  it?  That  is  so  nice  and 
polite  of  you!  Do  you  see  the  appearance 
that  I  would  make  as  queen?  No,  do  you  see 
it?  What  would  you  do  with  me?"  and  after 
a  minute  she  added,  "  And  what  would  1  do 
with  you?" 

He  began  to  laugh  :  "  How  old  are  you, 
Miss  Coryse?" 

"  I  will  be  sixteen  in  May;  and  how  old  are 
you,  monsieur?" 

"  I  will  be  twenty-four  in  eight  days." 
Feeling  some  scruple,  he  asked  if  her  mother 
would  permit  her  to  ride  with  young  men. 

"  No,  not  generally,  but  you  are  a  sover- 
eign! That  is  not  a  young  man;  it  doesn't 
count,"  and  blushing  she  added,  "  It  counts 
too  much  —  to  count."  Changing  the  conver- 
sation she  asked  him  if  he  was  not  afraid  to 
do  as  he  had  done  —  a  stranger  on  the  side  of 
the  opposition. 

"Oh  no;  my  political  opposition  consists 
in  saying  to  the  workmen,  if  I  was  in  their 
place  I  would  vote  for  your  uncle." 


148  Gbfffon's  fllbarriage. 

"  That  is  so,  but  in  your  place  I  would  be 
afraid.  I  wish  M.  d'Aubieres  was  here;  he 
would  tell  you  what  you  should  or  should 
not  do,  for  you  seem  to  me  to  be  a  little 
young  yet  for  these  things." 

"  You  are  interested  in  me?"  and  the  prince 
laughed  heartily. 

"  I  am  interested  without  being  interested." 

"  That  is  something !  How  one  can  be  de- 
ceived !  I  could  have  sworn,  and  I  am  some- 
thing of  a  prophet,  that  not  only  you  were 
not  interested  in  me,  but  that  I  was  antipa- 
thetic to  you." 

"That  is  true,"  Coryse  said  frankly,  "until 
this  moment;  and  you  now  seem  to  be  a  fine 
fellow." 

"  Then  we  are  friends?" 

"Yes, — oh,  my  lord,  I  must  ask  pardon;  I 
have  spoken  unkindly  to  you." 

"  Oh  no !" 

"Yes,  I  have  not  said  often  enough,  'my 
lord,'  and  I  have  never  said  'your  highness.' " 

"  Oh,  don't  bother  yourself  about  that :  and 
as  we  are  friends  now,  will  you  tell  me  why 
we  were  not  before?  That  is,  you — I  had  not 
the  same  repulsion,  I  assure  you." 


Cblffon's  /Carriage.  149 

"Yes,  I  will  tell  you;  it  was  instinct.  I 
don't  love  foreigners,  and  I  detest  Protest- 
ants, and  as  you  are  both,  you  can  under- 
stand." 

"  Yes,  I  do,  but  what  have  you  against 
foreigners?" 

"  Oh,  I  can't  forgive  them  for  not  being 
Frenchmen,  and  for  being  Protestants? — a 
lot  of  things!  They  are  intriguers,  false, 
hypocrites.  I  acknowledge  some  exceptions. " 

"  Naturally  me?" 

She  laughed.  "  Not  only  you  but  some 
others.  I  speak  of  the  mass  of  Protestants — 
in  France  especially.  They  are  the  only 
ones  I  know." 

"  Seeing  this  repulsion  with  which  I  have 
inspired  you,  I  suppose  you  took  me  for  a 
spy." 

"Oh,  my  lord,  never!  I  think  spies  are 
often  suspected  where  they  do  not  exist,  like 
the  mad  dogs  who  are  killed  when  they  are 
not." 

Returning  to  a  subject  which  interested 
her,  Chiffon  told  him  it  was  so  nice  of  him  to 
work  for  the  election  of  Uncle  Marc. 

"  Don't  be  so  grateful  for  this,  for  I  must 


150  Cbfffon's  flfcarriage. 

confess  the  conversation  you  heard  was  by 
chance.  These  men  took  care  of  my  horse 
while  I  visited  the  furnace.  1  did  not  know 
who  held  him,  and  feared  if  I  gave  money  to 
one,  the  others  would  be  down  upon  me,  so  I 
went  to  the  inn  and  brought  them  a  lunch. 
They  offered  to  drink  with  me,  and  in  drink- 
ing with  them  I  talked  about  the  candidate 
whose  bill  was  placarded  on  the  buildings  of 
the  furnace.  You  see  that  my  propaganda 
came  from  a  little  thing  after  all." 

"  It  serves  the  purpose.  You  will  see  how 
nice  Uncle  Marc  is,  now  that  he  has  come 
back.  I  know  that  you  will  find  the  house 
less  tiresome." 

But  the  prince  protested.     *'  I  have  not " 

Chiffon  interrupted  him :  "  You  could  not 
of  course  acknowledge  this  to  me,  and,  my 
lord,  you  were  not  shocked  at  Uncle  Marc's 
socialistic  proclamation — because  he  is  a 
socialist." 

"  But  /am  also  a  socialist!" 

She  begged  him  not  to  speak  of  that  at 
Pont-sur-Sarthe ;  that  would  not  look  well. 
"So  you  are  a  socialist,  my  lord,  that  will 
not  prevent  you  from  reigning?" 


Cbfffon's  /Rarrfage.  151 

"  I  hope  not,  but  if  it  does  prevent  I  will 
resign.  That  would  be  the  right  thing,  would 
it  not?" 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

"  It  would  be  very  easy ;  I  have  six  brothers ; 
aud  you,  Miss  Coryse,  came  to  make  an  elec- 
tioneering tour  when  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  you?" 

"  No,  I  had  a  commission  at  the  Barfleurs." 

"  Is  not  M.  Barfleur  a  little  man  and  very 
thin?  Is  he  not  also  very  English?" 

"  Yes,  of  the  kind  at  Pont-sur-Sarthe." 

"  Has  he  not  also  a  very  beautiful  chateau?" 

"Tolerably  pretty,  but  his  mother  owns 
it." 

"  Is  his  mother  agreeable?" 

"  Oh  no,  she  is  a  big  woman,  forever  pos- 
ing, and  assumes  a  sad  look.  I  am  always 
tempted  to  call  her  the  unfortunate  princess ; 
and  he — they  call  him  Two  farthings  of 
butter" 

As  Count  d'Axen  laughed,  Chiffon  ex- 
plained: 

"  I  am  not  wicked  or  satirical,  you  know, 
but  I  can't  bear  the  Barfleurs!" 

"  There  are  only  mother  and  son?* 


153  Cbtffon'0  flfcarrlage. 

44  That  is  indeed  enough,  of  them.** 

"  I  will  probably  meet  them  at  the  ball  to 
be  given  by  your  mother  the  day  of  the 
races." 

"  You  will  certainly  meet  them,  but  what 
good  will  come  of  it?" 

"  I  am  curious  to  see  how  provincial  society 
appears  after  Paris ;  that  I  know  a  little." 

"  If  you  knew  how  mean  it  is !  pinchbeck, 
all  on  the  same  level.  I  know  that  you  are 
above  all  this." 

"  But  I  am  not  above  anything." 

"  Outwardly  if  you  will;  and  now,  my  lord, 
I  think  it  would  be  better  for  you  not  to  men- 
tion that  we  rode  together  alone?" 

"  Oh  you  are  afraid  of  the  pinchbecks?" 

"  No,  but  I  fear  that  my  mother  might  take 
me  away  if  she  hears  this." 

"  Then  what  must  I  do?" 

"  Don't  speak  of  it,  and  I  will  not,  if  they 
don't  ask  me,  and  as  they  will  not  ask  it  is 
not  probable  that  they  will  guess  our  meet- 
ing." 

"  If  by  chance  they  should  guess,  we  would 
say  yes." 

"  That  is  understood,  and  now  we  had  bet- 


Cbfffon'0  flfcarrfage.  153 

ter  separate  before  going  out  of  the  wood. 
I  must  beg  pardon  for  all  my  faults,  my 
lord?"  and  she  added  with  a  laugh:  "  I  bow 
most  profoundly  to  your  highness." 

The  prince  took  off  his  hat  with  a  grand 
air  and  laughingly  replied,  "  I  salute  you 
most  profoundly,  Miss  Chiffon !" 


CHAPTER  X. 

FOR  eight  or  nine  days  Chiffon  could  not 
move  without  meeting  little  Barfleur.  He 
came  also  to  the  Brays  very  often  under  the 
pretext  of  commissions  sent  by  his  mother. 
One  evening  Coryse  found  him  installed  by 
her  mother  in  the  dining-room.  She  saw  the 
viscount  arrive  in  his  little  wagon  about  six 
o'clock,  and  she  thought  he  had  left  long  ago. 
The  marchioness  seemed  to  be  in  fine  humor 
and  said  that  M.  de  Barfleur  had  promised  to 
dine  with  them,  and  they  would  take  him 
back  in  the  carriage  in  the  afternoon. 

During  the  heated  term  M.  and  Mme.  de 
Bray  drove  every  day  after  dinner,  taking 
Chiffon  with  them.  The  ordeal  was  odious  to 
the  little  girl.  Seated  in  the  landau  opposite 
her  parents  she  could  neither  budge  nor 
laugh,  so  she  remained  quiet  and  bored,  as 
she  was  always  in  her  mother's  presence, 
always  dreading  a  scene. 

When  Marc  de  Bray  entered  the  room  his 
154 


Cblffon's  flfoarrtage.  156 

face  expressed  astonishment  in  seeing  little 
Barfleur.  Coryse  began  to  laugh,  and  when 
her  mother  came  in  (he  dining-room  on  the 
arm  of  the  viscount  she  said  to  Uncle  Marc, 
who  seemed  thoroughly  annoyed,  "  You  did 
not  expect  this,  did  you?" 

Without  appearing  to  notice  the  anxious 
look  of  his  brother  he  replied,  "  Well,  he  be- 
longs to  the  house  now,  '  Two  farthings  of 
butter.1  * 

"Not  yet,"  Chiffon  said  laughingly,  "but 
he  is  trying  to  be !" 

Uncle  Marc  stopped  short.  "What  is  it 
you  mean  to  say?" 

M.  de  Bray  with  an  imploring  look  pushed 
them  before  him ;  "  Go  in,  my  children — go 
in!" 

The  marchioness  with  an  angry  expression 
pointed  to  M.  Barfleur  standing  behind  his 
chair  waiting  for  them.  From  the  beginning 
of  the  dinner  the  viscount,  being  placed  op- 
posite Coryse,  began  to  gaze  at  her  passion- 
ately and  persisted  in  it.  The  little  girl  was 
so  near-sighted  that  she  scarcely  noticed  it, 
but  Marc  de  Bray  was  very  angry  at  the 
impertinence. 


156  Cbfffon's 

"What  is  the  matter,  uncle?  You  look  as 
if  you  could  gnash  your  teeth?" 

"I  am  vexed,"  he  answered — "It  is  noth- 
ing! I  have  a  headache." 

Notwithstanding  the  pretended  sickness  he 
chatted  away  with  his  niece  without  giving 
her  time  to  turn  her  head  to  one  side  or  the 
other. 

The  marchioness,  much  worried  at  this 
conduct,  tried  to  get  Chiffon  to  join  in  the 
general  conversation,  but  she  always  avoided 
it.  Not  being  able  to  gain  her  point  by  tact, 
she  decided  to  break  the  ice. 

"Coryse!  Your  conduct  is  decidedly  out 
of  place !  You  are  making  a  noise,  but  we 
can't  hear  what  you  say !" 

The  little  girl  was  quiet  and  did  not  finish 
a  sentence  begun,  indeed  did  not  open  her 
mouth  again. 

The  marchioness  added:  "  I  don't  prevent 
you  from  talking  or  replying  to  M.  Barfleur, 
who  says  that " 

Chiffon  in  a  very  gentle  and  polished  tone 
said:  "  M.  Barfleur  only  talks  of  hunting  and 
races,  and  I  detest  them  and  know  nothing 
about  them." 


Cbfffon's  flfcarrfage.  157 

Little  Barfleur  asked  with  much  eagerness, 
"What  do  you  like  to  talk  about,  Miss 
Coryse?" 

She  replied  in  the  same  modest  tone,  "I 
am  very  happy  in  not  talking  at  all." 

"  One  would  not  have  supposed  that  a  short 
time  since,"  her  mother  chimed  in  with  her 
harsh  voice. 

"Oh  yes,"  Coryse  added, "I  know  that  I 
have  been  very  noisy  and  must  beg  pardon ;" 
looking  steadily  at  her  plate  she  remained 
silent  until  the  end  of  the  dinner. 

When  coffee  was  served  in  the  billiard- 
room  Chiffon  went  out  and  sat  on  the  steps 
in  a  big  bamboo  chair,  rocking  away  and 
looking  at  the  stars  which  appeared  pale  in 
the  heavens,  still  light.  She  was  aroused  by 
her  mother,  who  came  out  with  her  hat  on. 

"  What — not  ready?  The  carriage  is  com- 
ing up !  Your  carelessness  is  dreadful !" 

The  little  girl  did  not  stir.  "I  will  come 
when  you  return  for  something  you  have 
forgotten." 

Uncle  Marc  burst  out  laughing,  and  M.  de 
Bray  turned  his  head  to  hide  a  smile. 
The  marchioness  became  purple  and  in  a 


168  Cbiffon's  Carriage. 

threatening    tone    asked    Chiffon  what  she 
meant. 

Chiffon  repeated,  quite  unmoved,  that 
every  evening  she  returned  to  the  house  for 
something  she  had  forgotten ;  and  in  a  low 
tone  added,  "  This  evening  you  may  return 
twice."  Her  allusion  was  to  one  of  the 
weaknesses  of  her  mother,  a  weakness  that 
the  marchioness  thought  no  one  guessed,  so 
confident  was  she  of  overruling  any  opinion 
which  might  not  be  flattering  to  her.  Ador- 
ing luxury  and  show,  all  that  to  her  mind 
might  astonish  and  charm  the  public,  Madame 
de  Bray  had  wheedled  her  husband  into 
changing  his  carriages  and  liveries,  which 
were  chosen  by  him  with  elegant  simplicity. 
The  landau,  a  blue  body  embossed  with  a 
big  coat-of-arms,  and  light  red  wheels,  was 
very  grotesque,  but  the  marchioness  was 
only  happy  when  going  from  one  end  of 
Pont-sur-Sarthe  to  the  other  in  this  conspicu- 
ous carriage.  That  was  her  reason  for  insist- 
ing so  often  upon  being  accompanied  by  her 
daughter.  When  the  little  girl  was  too  much 
bored  to  go  she  took  the  victoria,  which  was 
more  modest 


Cbfffon's  Aarriage.  159 

When  Madame  de  Bray  had  taken  an 
affected  pose  in  the  landau  with  its  glittering 
harness  and  startling  coat-of-arms,  and  could 
pass  before  the  restaurants  at  the  hour  for 
vermouth  or  coffee,  her  joy  was  full.  At  six 
and  eight  o'clock  the  sidewalk  was  full  of 
tables;  the  officers  and  swells  of  Pont-sur- 
Sarthe  were  out  in  full  force  at  Gilbert's,  the 
fashionable  restaurant,  or  at  the  Cafe  Per- 
ault.  Instead  of  telling  her  coachman  to 
take  a  fine  macadamized  road  somewhat  de- 
serted but  leading  directly  out  of  the  town, 
she  ordered  him  to  pass  by  the  places  hor- 
ribly paved  with  little  slippery  stones.  Often 
in  entering  one  of  these  streets  she  would 
suddenly  order  the  coachman  to  return  to  the 
house.  Chiffon  knew  well  her  little  way, — 
*  Oh  I  have  forgotten  my  parasol,  or  my 
cloak,  or  my  muff,  or  my  handkerchief," 
which  obliged  the  coachman  to  pass  for  the 
third  time  before  the  cafe.  She  had  a  horror 
of  these  exhibitions,  and  when  she  saw  the 
curious  faces  turned  toward  the  carriage  and 
heard  the  noise  of  the  spurs  and  swords  of 
the  officers  which  were  raised  to  salute  them, 
she  lowered  her  eyes,  saying  in  a  discontented 


160  Cbtffon'0  dBarrfage. 

way,  "  Do  they  really  feel  all  this  to-do  they 
are  making  over  us?"  she  was  furious,  so 
simple  in  her  character,  hating  exaggeration 
and  being  mixed  up  with  this  ridicule  of  her 
mother.  The  marquis  and  his  brother  had 
often  talked  about  what  the  servants  called  a 
false  start,  but  they  had  never  spoken  of  this 
to  Chiffon  and  were  greatly  amused  by  her 
reply. 

The  marchioness  walked  up  to  her  daugh- 
ter and  in  hissing  tones  asked  what  she 
meant  by  saying  that  she  might  return  twice 
this  evening.  She  came  so  near  that  her  lips 
touched  the  saucy  little  nose  of  the  child. 

"Why?"  Coryse  replied;  "because  this 
evening  you  have  Two  farthings  of  butter  to 
show  to  the  public,"  having  assured  herself 
that  little  Barfleur,  who  pretended  that  he 
was  looking  for  his  hat  at  the  end  of  the  room, 
could  not  hear.  While  explaining  herself  she 
thought,  in  a  few  minutes  she  would  be  ap- 
pearing before  the  world  seated  by  the  side 
of  the  viscount  in  the  startling  blue  landau. 
Nothing  more  was  needed  in  Pont-sur-Sarthe 
to  convince  them  of  an  engagement,  and  this 
Coryse  wished  to  escape  at  all  events.  She 


Cbitfon'0  flfcarrfase.  101 


had  never  before  thought  herself  of  much 
importance.  In  her  own  eyes  she  was  always 
Chiffon,  the  teller  of  funny  little  stories,  that 
no  one  took  seriously.  M.  d'Aubieres'  pro- 
posal and  Father  Ragon's  insinuations  had 
made  her  realize  that  she  was  now  a  young 
girl  that  was  loved  by  one,  and  "that  the  pro- 
tege of  the  other  feigned  love.  Before  giving 
her  mother  time  for  another  scene,  she  said  : 

"  Don't  give  yourself  any  trouble  about 
me.  I  am  tired  and  won't  go  out." 

"  That  is  not  so  !  You  are  never  tired,  it  is 
a  pretext." 

"  Be  it  so,  I  will  not  go  out  this  evening." 

"You  will  go  out." 

"  I  ask  your  permission  to  remain  at  home." 

"  Go  and  put  on  your  hat  !" 

As  Chiffon  did  not  move,  she  seized  her 
violently  by  the  wrists. 

The  child  broke  away  from  her  and  said 
gently,  "  It  is  ridiculous,  this  scene  before  a 
stranger." 

The  marchioness,  turning  toward  M.  Bar- 
fleur  and  suddenly  changing  her  expression 
into  smiles,  said  :    "  Oh  !  M.  Barfleur  is  nearly 
a  member  of  the  family." 
XI 


163  CfcftTon's  fl&arrfage. 

"What!"  the  little  girl  replied,  "I  think 
not.  He  does  not  begin  to  be  one  of  the 
family." 

After  a  little  silence  the  marquis  and  Two 
farthings  of  butter,  with  coats  on  their  arms 
and  sticks  in  their  hands,  awaited  the  signal 
for  departure. 

Assuming  a  gracious  air,  the  marchioness, 
turning  to  Coryse,  said,  "  If  I  insist  upon  your 
going  with  us,  my  reason  is  that  it  is  not 
proper  for  you  to  remain  alone  in  the 
house." 

"I  stay  alone  constantly;  and  besides  I  am 
not  alone,  Uncle  Marc  is  with  me." 

"  But  your  uncle  probably  may  go  out." 

Marc  answered  coldly :  "  You  know  very 
well,  my  dear  sister-in-law,  that  I  never  go 
out  in  the  evening." 

"  Then  I  leave  Corysande  with  you." 

Uncle  Marc  was  a  little  nervous,  and  with 
a  shrug  of  his  shoulders,  said,  "  Be  sure  that 
I  will  take  good  care  of  her.  I  won't  let  her 
get  dirty  or  play  with  the  light." 

As  little  Barfleur  leaned  toward  the  hand 
which  Coryse  gave  him  mechanically  and 
imprinted  a  long  kiss  upon  it,  he  took  his 


Cbiffon'0  flbarrtefle.  188 


niece  by  the  arm  and  whirling  her  around 
said,  "  Let  us  go  ;  do  come,  Chiffon  1" 

When  they  were  in  the  parlor  together, 
Coryse  said  gayly  to  her  Uncle  Marc: 
"There  was  a  little  scuffle  this  afternoon  1 
And  I  was  not  necessary,  as  there  was  a 
third  to  force  her  to  take  the  landau." 

Seeing  her  uncle  take  his  seat  under  the 
lamp  and  undo  the  wraps  from  his  papers, 
she  said:  "Don't  feel  obliged  to  stay  with 
me." 

"  I  was  going  to  say  the  same  thing  to  you." 

"  Oh,  I  can  do  my  work  any  where  ;  only 
when  papa  goes  out  you  usually  do  your 
work  in  your  room." 

He  answered  laughingly,  "  Yes  —  but  those 
were  winter  evenings.  You  were  never 
placed  especially  under  my  care  until  to-day." 

Coryse  got  her  tapestry,  all  bristling  with 
animals  and  funny  warriors  that  she  copied 
from  the  designs  of  the  tapestries  of  Bayeux, 
and  seated  herself  by  Uncle  Marc.  In  a 
moment  he  stopped  reading  and  looked  over 
his  paper  at  the  little  dishevelled  head  lean- 
ing so  attentively  over  the  diapered  silk. 

"  Chiffon,"  he  asked  suddenly,  "  when  be- 


164  Cbfffon'0  flfcarrfage* 

fore  dinner,  in  speaking  of  this  young  goin- 
meaux,  'Oh,  he  is  a  part  of  the  house  now,' 
you  answered,  'Not  yet,  but  he  is  trying 
to  be.'" 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  said  with  her  nose  in  the  air. 

"  Well,  I  did  not  quite  understand  what  you 
meant." 

"  I  meant  to  say  that '  Two  farthings  of  but- 
ter' wished  to  marry  me." 

The  viscount  jumped  up.  "  That  is  what  I 
guessed,  but  I  could  not  believe  it;  and  you 
speak  so  quietly  of  it — to  marry  you !  This 
grotesque!  It  would  be  monstrous." 

"  Oh,  you  may  be  quiet,  he  will  never 
marry  me,"  Chiffon  said  laughingly. 

Uncle  Marc  whispered,  "  How  glad  I  am !" 
and  she  looked  lovingly  at  him. 

"You  are  so  good  to  interest  yourself  so 
much  in  me !"  After  a  little  silence  she 
added,  "  You  are  the  cause  of  his  wishing  to 
marry  me." 

"Me?" 

"  Yes:  as  soon  as  they  heard  of  your  inher- 
itance there  was  a  rumor  that  I  would  be 
very  rich,  that  you  would  give  me  a  dot,  and 
leave  me  all  your  fortune." 


Cbfffon's 

"  That  is  true !" 

"  But  your  children?" 

"/have  children?" 

"  No — but  when  you  are  married " 

"  I  will  never  marry,  my  Chiffon.  I  would 
be  afraid  of  stumbling  upon  a  wpman  like — " 
He  was  going  to  say,  "  like  your  mother;"  he 
stopped  and  said,  "  like  some  I  have  known. 
No,  I  am  suspicious,  and  will  remain  an  old 
bachelor." 

"Oh,  so  much  the  better!  Then  if  you 
wish " 

"  If  I  wish?" 

"  I  will  go  and  live  with  you.  I  will  keep 
the  house.  I  don't  want  to  marry  either. 
When  I  am  twenty-one  I  certainly  will  never 
stay  here, — not  a  day.  Notwithstanding 
poor  papa,  who  is  so  good,  though  I  have 
often  failed  in  duty.  I  know  that  in  other 
ways  my  absence  would  smooth  away  many 
of  the  little  difficulties  of  existence;  but 
never  mind,  he  will  regret  his  Chiffon." 

The  viscount,  quite  amazed,  asked  where 
she  would  go. 

"  I  have  always  thought  that  I  would  ask 
Uncle  Albert  and  Aunt  Matilda  to  take  me 


iw  Cbiffon's  /Rarrtage. 

back  again ;  but  if  you  would  like  me  I  would 
be  so  happy !  I  love  you  so  much !  if  you 
only  knew !  Yes,  more  than  papa  1  love  you. 
It  may  be  wrong,  but  I  can't  help  it ;"  and  in 
a  passionate  voice  she  finished.  Leaning 
toward  him,  palpitating  and  tender,  "  I  adore 
you,  Uncle  Marc !" 

Leaning  back  on  his  chair,  somewhat  pale, 
he  whispered,  "  I  do  not  deserve  being  adored, 
my  little  Chiffon." 

"  Why  not?" 

"Instead  of  keeping  house  for  your  old 
bearish  uncle  you  will  marry — and  have  a 
lot  of  squalling  babies  who  will  take  the 
place  of  Gribouille  and  old  John." 

She  answered  gravely:  "May  I  tell  you? 
I  am  sure  that  I  will  never  marry ;  no  one 
charms  me!" 

"  What?  There  is  poor  d*  Aubieres,  a  hand- 
some fellow,  good  and  intelligent,  but  he 
begins  to  be  a  little  old;  as  to  the  other  he  is 
a  little  monster." 

Coryse  began  to  laugh.    "  Don't  say  that 
to  Madame  Delorme!" 

"  Oh,  you  are  au  courant  with  the  pinch- 
becks  also?  Madame  Delorme  is  simply  an 


Cblffon's  Aarrfage.  1«7 

idiot,  and  what  she  likes  in  Barfleur  is  his 
name — his  title — his  English  costumes — hi» 
horses  and  chateau." 

"  I  suppose  so,  but  it's  something  to  "be  able 
to  love  somebody.  I  feel  that  I  can  never 
love  any  one." 

He  asked,  a  little  disturbed,  "  Probably  you 
love  some  one  now?" 

"Never  in  my  life!"  Chiffon  answered 
with  such  conviction  that  Uncle  Marc  smiled, 
completely  reassured. 

She  added:  "No  one  pleases  me — to 
marry  I  mean.  There  is  Paul  de  Lussy,  wha 
is  thought  so  nice,  and  M.  de  Trene;  I  don't 
want  them !  I  know  that  all  this  is  ridicu- 
lous, and  that  I  have  no  right  to  be  so  hard  to 
please,  with  my  appearance." 

"  With  your  appearance?  What  do  you 
mean?"  Uncle  Marc  asked. 

"Why,  I  am  ugly!" 

He  stammered,  "  Ugly?    Your 

She  answered  sadly :  "  Oh,  I  know  it,  and 
that  annoys  me  enough !" 

"  Your  mother  told  you  this.  You  are 
pretty — very  pretty.  Do  you  understand?" 

44  You  tell  me  this  to  make  me  happy,  or 


168  Cbiffon's 

probably  you  think  so  because  you  love  me 
so  much." 

"  Listen  to  me,  Chiffon,"  Uncle  Marc  said. 
"  I  repeat  it  seriously,  that  you  are,  and  that 
you  will  be  in  two  or  three  years  a  very 
beautiful  woman.  Do  you  think  that  Au- 
bieres,  who  has  had " 

As  he  stopped  Coryse  asked:  "Who  has 
had  what?" 

"  I  mean,  do  you  think  that  Aubieres,  who 
has  known  so  many,  would  have  been  so 
captivated  with  you  if  you  were  not  pretty? 
No !  you  should  know  what  you  really  are, 
and  you  can  believe  your  old  uncle  who  tells 
you  so." 

Then  the  little  girl  was  joyful.  "  Chiffon 
•Is  a  pretty  woman !  a  pretty  woman !  How 
funny!  I  am  so  happy,  and  so  thankful  to 
you  for  telling  me,  but  that  will  not  prevent 
my  keeping  your  house?  on  the  contrary," 
cajoling,  "  I  beg  you,  Uncle  Marc — I  beg  you 
to  say  yes,  and  don't  go  away,  don't  leave 
me  here  without  you?  If  you  knew  how  hor- 
rible these  fifteen  days  have  been?  I  cannot 
live  without  you !  I  cannot !" 

Gliding  down  from  her  low  chair  Coryse 


Gbtffon's  /iBarrfage.  169 

seated  herself  on  the  ground  like  a  baby,  and 
leaning  on  the  viscount's  knees  her  little 
bead,  which  in  the  pale  light  of  the  lamp  was 
like  a  nest  of  silvered  moss,  she  begged 
plaintively  with  her  tearful  eyes :  "  Don't  go 
away  again?  tell  me  never?" 

With  a  movement  almost  brutal  he  tried  to 
rise.  She  forced  him  to  sit  down  with  her 
arms  clasped  around  him,  and  asked  and 
pleaded:  "Will  you  send  me  away?  Why 
do  you  treat  me  so?  I  have  often  thought 
you  were  not  the  same;  you  used  to  take  me 
on  your  knees  and  kiss  me." 

He  answered  coldly:  "  Formerly  you  were 
a  child.  Now  you  are  past  the  age  for  this." 

While  two  big  tears  rolled  down  on  her 
pink  cheeks  she  said,  "  One  is  always  of  an 
age  to  be  loved." 

"I  do  love  you;  I  love  you  dearly,"  Marc 
de  Bray  answered  with  emotion,  "  only  I  beg 
you  to  stop  this  and  sit  down."  While  he 
tried  to  repulse  her  the  bell  of  the  gate  rang, 
by  a  timid  and  hesitating  hand. 

Uncle  Marc  held  up  Chiffon  a  little  roughly. 
"Get  up;  one  must  not  behave  in  this  way. 
Suppose  it  is  a  visitor?" 


170  Cbfffon's  Carriage. 

She  got  up  and  said  laughingly,  "  A  visi- 
tor? Who  rings  like  that?  When  a  man 
rings  like  that  ne  is  probably  the  lover  ot  the 
cook." 

The  servant  entered,  announcing  the  Count 
d'Axen. 

Coryse  said,  "  The  marchioness  has  gone 
out." 

Uncle  Marc  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  Receive 
him,"  and  was  somewhat  relieved. 

Chifton,  somewhat  surprised,  begged  him 
not  to  receive  the  count,  saying  how  angry 
she  was  at  the  interruption.  They  were  so 
happy  together!  Seeing  her  uncle  looked 
pale,  she  was  anxious  to  know  the  cause. 

"  Oh  it  is  only  the  heat,"  her  uncle  said, 
"and  it  will  be  over  in  a  minute." 

He  advanced  to  meet  the  prince,  but  Chif- 
fon followed  him  pensively. 

"My  lord,  my  sister-in-law  is  out;  it  is  my 
niece  who  presents  me  to  your  highness." 

As  the  little  girl  seemed  to  be  a  thousand 
leagues  away  from  the  situation,  he  called: 
"  Coryse!  you  did  not  understand?" 

She  ran  gayly  up  to  them ;  "  Oh,  you  can 
say  Chiffon,  my  lord  knows  the  name  well. 


Cblffon's  flfcarrfage.  171 

My  lord,  this  is  Uncle  Marc,  for  whom  you 
electioneered  in  the  country." 

Turning  to  the  viscount,  who  seemed  sur- 
prised, "  I  have  not  seen  you  alone  since  yes- 
terday. Let  me  tell  you ;  on  my  return  from 
Barfleur  I  found  my  lord  explaining  to  the 
workmen  of  the  upper  furnace  that  they 
must  all  vote  for  you.  He  will  explain  all 
this  much  better  himself." 

Uncle  Marc  began  to  offer  his  thanks,  but 
Chiffon  interrupted  him:  "You  must  not 
speak  of  this  at  the  house,  that  I  met  my  lord 
in  the  wood  and  rode  with  him,"  and  turning 
toward  the  prince  she  said :  "  It  is  not  the 
same  thing  with  Uncle  Marc.  We- can  say 
anything  to  him." 

Seeing  the  viscount  listening  with  a  grave 
expression  and  eyebrows  elevated,  one  of  his 
signs  of  discontent,  she  added  sadly,  "  Ex- 
cept to-day.  I  don't  know  what  is  the  mat- 
ter with  him;  he  is  not  himself  at  all." 

The  prince  explained  that  he  had  come  to 
thank  Madame  de  Bray  for  her  kind  note. 

"Another!"  Chiffon  thought;  "she  writes 
then  twice  a  day." 

Count  d'Axen  went  on  to  say  that  she  had 


17S  Cblffon'0 

sent  him  invitations  for  her  ball,  and  had  also 
sent  him  a  list  ot  the  invited  should  he  wish 
to  add  to  it.  He  wished  to  return  this  list, 
and  placed  the  envelope  on  the  table,  adding 
that  he  must  not  disturb  them  longer. 

"  My  lord,"  Uncle  Marc  insisted,  "  if  you 
have  no  other  engagement  this  evening  we 
will  be  charmed  to  have  you  stay." 

Chiffon  left  the  room  to  order  tea.  Then 
she  put  Gribouille  to  sleep,  and  went  to  see 
if  her  flowers  had  been  watered.  On  her  re- 
turn she  found  the  two  men  in  earnest  con- 
versation about  matters  which  interested 
them  deeply. 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  prince  left  them,  and 
Uncle  Marc  went  with -him  to  the  gate.  On 
his  return  Coryse  asked  his  opinion  of  him. 
Uncle  Marc  said  he  found  him  so  intelligent 
and  nice  that  he  was  surprised  at  Coryse, 
who  spoke  of  his  being  as  tall  as  a  bootjand 
black  or  blacker  than  Carnot. 

"  But  who  do  you  think  handsome?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know — you!" 

"  Me?" 

"Yes;  I  don't  say  that  you  are  after  the 
Greek  type,  but  I  like  you  as  you  are.  I  detest 


Cbfffon'0  /Rarrfage.  173 

fops  and  young  men.  I  hate  very  young  men ; 
a  man  is  not  a  man  until  he  is  thirty-five." 

"  It  is  a  pity  for  poor  d'Aubieres  that  your 
limit  goes  back  a  little  too  far.  I  think  the 
prince  very  charming." 

"  So  do  I  now  since  our  ride  in  the 
wood." 

Uncle  Marc  raised  his  eyebrows  again. 

"  Come,  let  us  talk  about  this  ride.  Your 
mother  is  quite  right:  you  behave  like  a  girl 
badly  reared.  At  your  age  should  you  be 
riding  alone  in  a  wood  with  a  young  man?" 

"  What,  a  king?" 

"  A  king  is  a  man !" 

"  If  you  say  so,  but  I  was  not  alone." 

"  Yes,  you  had  old  John;  he  is  an  idiot!" 

This  distressed  the  little  girl.  "  Oh,  Uncle 
Marc,  how  wicked  you  have  become !" 

"  Wicked  because  I  do  not  approve  of  your 
fancies?  because  I  don't  encourage  you  in 
flirting  in  the  wood  with  all  the  do-nothings 
in  the  road?" 

"Now  he  is  a  good-for-nothing!  a  short 
time  ago  he  was  a  success!" 

The  viscount  was  angry :  "  I  have  had 
enough  of  your  manners.  It  is  true  I  have 


174  Cbfffon's 

spoiled  you ;  I  have  laughed  at  your  behavior 
like  a  runaway  colt,  which  is  no  longer  funny, 
and  if  I  have  encouraged  you  in  all  this  I 
repent  my  course  deeply." 

In  his  firm  voice  one  felt  the  hoarseness  of 
tears.  Chiffon  tried  to  take  his  hand,  but  he 
drew  it  away  violently. 

Bowed  down  by  most  intense  feeling  which 
she  tried  to  hide,  she  stammered  out  feebly: 
"Is  it  possible,  Uncle  Marc,  that  you  have 
changed  while  away?" 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  day  of  the  dinner  at  the  Barfleurs  M. 
de  Bray  took  a  dreadful  cold,  which  affected 
his  nose  and  lips  and  nearly  closed  his  eyes. 
He  had  so  much  fever  that  he  told  his  wife 
he  would  be  utterly  unable  to  go  to  the  din- 
ner, and  would  be  obliged  to  go  to  bed  until 
the  next  day.  The  marchioness  became 
very  angry,  telling  him  that  it  was  treating 
the  Barfleurs  very  badly,  as  they  had  invited 
a  party  of  fourteen  and  his  absence  wotild 
leave  the  fatal  number  of  thirteen  at  table. 
She  thought  it  would  be  very  difficult  so  late 
in  the  day  to  supply  his  place. 

M.  de  Bray  was  sorely  distressed  to  be 
obliged  to  decline,  but  was  too  sick  to  go. 
He  laughingly  said  to  his  wife : 

"  You  think  that  thirteen  at  table  would 
kill  you  in  a  year.  I  am  sure  that  I  would  die 
if  I  ventured  out  to-day  and  should  be  one  of 
the  fourteen." 

•75 


170  Cbiffcn's 

The  marchioness  proposed  that  Coryse 
should  be  one  of  the  number. 

The  little  girl  said,  "Never!"  with  convic- 
tion. 

M.  de  Bray  begged  her:  "  My  little  Chiffon, 
this  would  be  so  nice  of  you." 

"  Oh  no!  don't  beg  me,"  and  thinking  she 
had  an  excellent  excuse  for  staying  at  home, 
she  explained:  "First,  I  must  dine  with 
Uncle  Marc ;  he  would  be  alone,  as  you  would 
go  to  bed." 

Uncle  Marc,  who  had  not  until  then  seen 
to  notice  what  was  said,  protested  with 
animation : 

"  Not  at  all !  Don't  think  about  me.  What 
an  idea!  Upon  my  word,  one  would  think 
that  I  required  a  nurse." 

"No;  but  you  have  always  said  that  it 
bored  you  to  be  alone  at  table." 

"  I  never  said  that !" 

"  Oh  yes,  you  have — a  hundred  times." 

"Very  well;  if  you  want  to  be  a  good 
Chiffon  you  will  go  to  this  dinner  with  your 
mother.  You  will  go  to  please  me." 

The  girl  looked  at  him  with  astonishment, 
almost  with  distress.  "How  is  it,"  she 


Cbiffon's  flfcarrtage.  177 

thought,  "after  all  that  he  has  said  to  me 
only  two  clays  ago  of  little  Barfleur,  and  of 
this  idea  of  marriage  and  all  that,  and  now 
he  wants  to  send  me  down  there — I  who  go 
nowhere?  it  would  seem  as  if  I  was  running 
after  him."  So  she  answered: 

"  Under  no  circumstances  will  I  go  to  the 
Barfleurs"  this  evening." 

"  Why  not!"  her  mother  asked. 

"I  told  you  the  other  day;  I  have  no 
dress." 

"  The  one  your  father  has  just  given  you?" 

"  I  have  ordered  that  for  to-morrow ;  it  is 
not  finished." 

"Very  well.  Your  pompadour  gown  can 
be  quickly  arranged." 

"  My  friends  have  seen  me  in  long  dresses 
for  a  year.  They  would  be  a  little  surprised; 
they  would  be  at  a  loss  what  to  say.  Be- 
sides, if  they  don't  add  to  it,  with  strong 
thread,  my  pompadour  frock  will  be  above 
my  knees  when  1  sit  down." 

Uncle  Marc  got  up :  "  Go  and  get  your 
hat.  I  will  take  you,  and  1  promise  that  you 
will  have  a  dress  in  time." 

Coryse  still  resisted:  "  You  are  mad  also 
sa 


178  Cbflton's  flfcarrtage. 

to  make  me  go  down  there.     Very  well;  I 
will  go  to  please  you." 

Going  out  of  the  parlor  she  thought,  giving 
Uncle  Marc  a  reproachful  glance,  "  He  does 
not  want  to  be  alone  with  me  like  the  other 
evening;  but,  mon  Diat,  why  not?" 

'The  viscount  took  Chiffon  to  the  first  dress- 
maker in  Pont-sur-Sarthe,  one  that  she  had 
heard  of  only,  and  she  mounted  the  steps 
with  respect.  Not  only  her  modest  income 
did  not  admit  of  her  being  dressed  by  Ma- 
dame Bertin,  but  her  mother  did  not  employ 
this  great  artist.  Totally  without  taste,  in- 
capable of  discerning  the  beauty  of  a  dress 
well  cut,  or  the  ugliness  of  one  badly  made; 
not  understanding  differences  in  color  or 
trimmings,  and  only  occupied  with  materials, 
for  her  a  woman's  attire  was  reduced  to  what 
^Tas  showy  or  not.  In  speaking  of  a  dress  or 
of  some  material  its  effectiveness  was  her 
only  idea.  No  matter  how  delicious  the  stuff 
it  became  an  unknown  quantity  when  judged 
by  this  standard.  Seeing  some  women  wear- 
ing it,  she  would  say:  "It  is  surprising  that 
Madame  K.  spends  so  much  money  and  has 
nothing  which  is  effective."  To  her,  tailors 


Cbiffon's  flfcarrtage.  179 

and  expensive  dressmakers  were  robbers. 
She  only  thought  of  the  commercial  price  of 
materials,  and  could  not  comprehend  that  the 
cut  changed  everything. 

It  was  the  same  thing  in  art ;  she  could  not 
understand  why  fifteen  thousand  francs  should 
be  given  for  a  portrait,  when  one  could  be 
procured  much  finer  for  two  thousand.  A 
romance  which  was  not  stuffed  with  intrigue 
was  hollow,  and  she  wondered  how  any  one 
could  like  Loti,  who  failed  utterly  in  imag- 
ination. 

Then  Madame  de  Bray  bought  materials 
and  had  them  made  by  obscure  dressmakers 
in  Pont-sur-Sarthe,  whose  taste  was  abomina- 
ble. Chiffon  did  the  same  thing  and  arrived 
at  the  same  results.  Hers  were  a  little  bet- 
ter chosen  and  so  simple  in  style — always  the 
same,  a  kind  of  Russian  blouse  scarcely  de- 
fining her  elegant  little  body. 

When  Uncle  Marc  entered  Madame  Ber- 
tin's  parlor,  followed  by  his  niece,  Coryse 
was  surprised  to  see  that  he  knew  the  sales- 
women, and  soon  her  little  brain  was  at  work: 
What  had  Uncle  Marc  to  do  with  dressmakers 
and  those  who  did  not  serve  Madame  de  Bray, 


180  Cbfffon's  flbarrlage. 

nor  Luce  de  Givry,  who  dressed  so  simply, 
nor  even  Madame  de  Bassigny,  who  feared  to 
meet  doubtful  people? 

While  waiting  for  Madame  Bertin,  who 
was  busy  fitting  some  one,  Chiffon  began  to 
ask  Uncle  Marc  questions: 

M  They  seem  to  know  you  here?  How  is 
that?" 

"  I  came — I  have — I  designed  some  cos- 
tumes for  the  ball  at  the  Lussacs"  last  year." 

She  corrected  him :  "  A  costume,  not  some 
costumes.  Yes,  I  remember  very  well  now; 
it  was  for  Madame  de  Liron." 

"  That,  and  others." 

"No;  that  and  not  others.  That  was 
enough  of  the  pinchbecks  f* 

"  Don't  speak  so  loud  I" 

Chiffon  said  no  one  would  hear.  Pointing 
to  the  saleswomen  going  to  and  fro,  she  re- 
mained silent  for  a  moment,  perfectly  ab- 
sorbed, and  all  at  once,  as  if  continuing  a 
conversation  with  herself,  muttered,  "  One 
more  woman  who  is  deceiving  her  husband — 
Madame  de  Liron !" 

"Hush!"  her  Uncle  Marc  begged,  looking 
around  him  with  a  disturbed  expression — "  do 


Cbtffon'0  fl&arrtage.  181 

hush,  I  pray!"  In  an  angry  tone  he  said: 
"Young  girls  never  should  speak  of  things 
they  don't  understand;  and  of  things  they 
ought  not  to  understand." 

"  I  know  very  well  that  I  ought  not  to  un- 
derstand, and  that  I  know  very  little,  but  I 
hear,  don't  I? — unless  I  put  cotton  in  my  ears 
like  cousin  La  Balue." 

"  One  hears  only  what  they  wish  to  listen 
to!" 

"  Oh  no !  I  never  listen,  and  I  always  hear! 
Sometimes  I  would  prefer  not, — for  example 
the  dishonesty  of  Madame  de  Liron." 

"  I  forbid  you  to  pronounce  names!  There 
might  be  a  servant,  a  maid,  some  one  from 
her  house." 

"  And  do  you  think  servants  know  nothing 
of  what  their  mistresses  do?" 

"  It  is  then  unnecessary  for  you  to  be  relat- 
ing it." 

Visibly  disturbed  she  added:  "I  don't 
know  why  you  talk  so  much  about  Madame 
de  Liron !" 

Uncle  Marc  looked  at  her  amazed:  "I 
speak  of  her?  Am  I  speaking  now?" 

The  door  of  one  ot  the  fitting-rooms  was 


183  Cbiffon'0  /Carriage. 

opened  and  the  little  Liron  entered  in  a  whirl 
followed  by  Madame  Bertin:  she  was  envel- 
oped in  a  cloud  of  rosy  gauze. 

"  They  told  me  that  you  were  here,  and  I 
could  not  let  yet  you  go  without  a  word." 
She  shook  hands  with  the  viscount,  and  turn- 
ing toward  Chiffon  said,  "  How  do  you  do, 
Miss  Coryse?"  Then  turning  to  Marc,  "  Are 
you  here  to  have  a  dress  made?" 

He  answered  with  some  embarrassment: 
"  I  came  for  my  niece." 

The  little  Liron  burst  out  laughing,  open- 
ing a  mouth  somewhat  disfigured  by  defec- 
tive teeth. 

"You  are  affecting  the  mamma;  it  is 
touching." 

Seeing  the  annoyance  of  the  viscount  she 
hastened  to  add:  "My  compliments  also! 
Your  daughter  is  charming !" 

Chiffon  did  not  appear  to  hear.  She  looked 
at  the  young  woman  with  eagerness;  she  was 
a  very  pretty  little  person,  plump  and  dim- 
pled— her  brown  hair  curled  on  her  forehead 
with  soft,  delicate  lines.  She  had  large, 
chocolate-colored  eyes,  and  they  were  very 
winning;  a  good  nose  and  little  mouth. 


Obfffon's  rtbarrfage.  183 

charming  when  closed,  and  a  superb  com- 
plexion. Her  shoulders  were  white  and 
plump  above  her  very  low  bodice.  The 
upper  part  of  her  arms  were  a  little  coarse, 
ears  large  and  badly  joined  to  the  head,  too 
far  from  the  hair — such  as  she  was,  Chiffon 
understood  well  that  she  did  not  fancy  this 
sort  of  woman,  although  Madame  de  Liron 
was  very  pretty  and  very  fascinating. 

As  Marc  said  nothing,  the  young  woman 
continued : 

"  You  are  going  to  have  something  in  pink, 
I  hope?  It  is  the  most  becoming  color  to 
such  a  skin !  And  it  would  at  least  be  polite 
to  tell  me  how  you  like  my  dress?" 

He  answered,  "  Quite  a  success!" 

"  The  way  you  answer  makes  it  hard  to  be- 
lieve! It  is  for  the  ball  at  your  sister-in- 
law's  to-morrow.  I  think  we  dine  together 
this  evening  at  the  Barfleurs'?" 

"  No ;  I  dine  out  rarely,  and  at  present  I  am 
in  mourning." 

"  That  is  true !  I  have  not  seen  you  since 
your  return." 

"  I  only  came  back  the  day  before  yester- 
day, and  make  no  visits." 


IM  Cbtffon's 

"  I  know  that  P  She  took  tip  some  mate- 
rial unfolded  on  the  sofa,  and  in  passing  be- 
fore the  viscount  she  said  quickly  and  very 
low :  "  But  you  might  see  me  elsewhere." 

Marc  glanced  at  Chiffon,  trying  to  guess  if 
she  had  heard. 

Very  white,  with  closed  lips  and  eyes  cast 
down  as  a  statue,  the  little  girl  seemed  in- 
sensible. A  rapid  throbbing  of  the  temples 
alone  showed  life ;  and  Marc  thought,  "  She 
has  noticed  nothing." 

Madame  de  Liron  returned  after  examining 
the  stuffs  and  asked,  "  Your  brother  and  sis- 
ter-in-law dine  down  there  this  evening,  do 
they  not?" 

"  My  brother  is  ill ;  my  sister-in-law  goes 
with  my  niece." 

"  Oh,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  Miss  Coryse 
makes  her  debut?  I  am  delighted  to  dine 
with  her  this  evening." 

Chiffon  bowed  proudly,  thinking,  "She 
isn't  like  me!  Since  I  know  that  she  will  be 
there  it  seems  to  be  more  of  a  damper." 

Uncle  Marc  asked  Madame  Bertin  when  he 
could  speak  to  her?  he  was  in  a  hurry,  and 
wanted  a  dress  for  his  niece  by  five  o'clock. 


Cbfffon's  jflfcarrfage.  185 


The  little  Liron  surrendered  the  dress- 
maker, and  went  into  the  parlor. 

Uncle  Marc  asked  what  she  could  do  for 
him? 

She  told  him  that  a  dress  could  not  be 
made  by  five  o'clock,  but  some  of  the  models 
could  be  arranged  and  altered.  She  said 
that  some  were  quite  fresh.  Looking  at 
Coryse,  she  proposed  a  little  pink  dress. 

"  No  !"  Chiffon  said  decidedly,  "  not  pink. 
I  don't  wish  it!" 

Madame  de  Liron  had  a  few  moments  be- 
fore proposed  pink  to  Uncle  Marc,  and  that 
was  enough  to  ttirn  her  from  it. 

Madame  Bertin  asked  what  color  she 
wished. 

She  replied  that  any  color  she  liked  would 
answer  but  pink.  She  loved  white. 

One  of  the  women  brought  in  a  white 
mousseline  de  soie.  Madame  Bertin  opened 
the  door  of  a  room  and  took  Coryse  in. 

"  Will  Miss  d'  Avesnes  come  in  and  try  on 
her  dress?" 

Seeing  that  Marc  remained  seated,  she 
asked  if  he  would  not  come  in?  Uncle  Marc 
followed  the  dressmaker  and  took  his  seat  in 


188  Cbfffon's  flbarrfage. 

a  corner  of  the  fitting-room  where  Chiffon 
had  already  taken  off  her  dress,  it  having 
fallen  to  her  feet  and  leaving  her  in  a  little 
short  skirt  and  silk  jersey  to  which  she  fast- 
ened her  stockings.  Her  old  Uncle  de  Lau- 
nay,  who  had  always  directed  her  physical 
education,  had  never  permitted  her  to  wear 
corsets  or  garters  or  boots.  He  thought  they 
were  ugly  and  unhealthy.  Nothing,  he 
thought,  so  deforms  the  body  as  corsets  and 
garters,  or  so  injures  the  ankle-bone  as  high 
boots.  He  thought  the  corset  and  boots 
might  hide  imperfections,  but  the  garter 
never.  Chiffon  had  grown  up  unrestrained, 
and  when  her  mother  talked  about  forming 
her  figure  with  corsets,  rebelled  heartily. 
She  could  not  bear  the  restraint.  She  pre- 
ferred the  form  God  had  given  her,  and  would 
not  look  as  if  she  had  swallowed  a  stick.  In 
thinking  of  her  mother's  figure  she  said : 

"  I  hate  a  big  bust  and  large  hips,  with 
small  waist;  it  is  a  deformity,  a  pillow  tied 
in  the  middle." 

When  Chiffon  had  put  on  the  little  simple 
frock  with  skirts  one  above  the  other  falling 
Straight  from  the  full  waist,  draping  prettily 


Cbfffon's  fl&arrfage.  18f 

her  elegant  and  firm  bust,  Madame  Bertin 
was  delighted. 

"  How  becoming  it  is  to  her!  There  is  lit- 
tle to  be  altered.  What  a  stunning  figure! 
Is  it  not,  sir?" 

"  Yes,"  Marc  muttered  as  he  beheld  Chiffon 
transformed.  In  this  elegant  and  correctly 
made  frock,  her  pretty  shoulders  firm  and 
rosy,  arrns  though  still  a  littie  thin,  but  of 
beautiful  contour,  the  child  appeared  so 
differently  from  usual  that  her  Uncle  Marc 
said  to  himself,  satisfied  and  yet  annoyed, 
"  They  will  not  know  her  this  evening." 

At  this  moment  Madame  de  Liron  opened 
the  parlor  door  and  asked  if  they  needed  her 
advice. 

Marc  declined  coldly,  becoming  very  red. 

The  young  woman  saw  Coryse  in  her  won- 
derful transformation,  and  was  petrified  by 
it.  Her  pretty,  laughing  face  assumed  a  bad, 
wild  expression,  and  shutting  the  door  vio- 
lently said  to  the  viscount,  "  You  are  not 
bored,  are  you?" 

Coryse,  half  closing  her  bright  eyes,  said 
gently :  "  Madame  de  Liron  is  rather  noisy, 
is  she  not?" 


188  Cbfffon's  /Rarrfage* 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  when  trotting 
home  with  Uncle  Marc,  Chiffon  declared, 
without  naming  the  young  woman,  that  he 
was  thinking  of  her. 

"  It  makes  no  difference,  she  does  not  bother 
herself  with  you,"  he  replied  in  rather  a 
surly  way.  "No  one  disturbs  her!" 

The  little  girl  shook  her  head,  saying  to 
herself,  "  Oh,  never  mind !  There  are  differ- 
ent kinds  of  love  in  this  \vorldl" 


CHAPTER  XII. 

As  Uncle  Marc  foresaw,  Chiffon  was 
scarcely  recognized  as  she  entered  the  Bar- 
fleur  drawing-room.  It  was  a  triumph.  Al- 
though so  distrustful  of  herself,  she  could 
not  help  noticing  the  effect  she  produced. 
She  almost  burst  out  laughing  before  Ma- 
dame Bassigny,  who  gazed  at  her  with  an 
angry  and  stupid  expression. 

"  It  annoys  her  because  I  look  so  well,"  she 
thought. 

The  marchioness  was  simply  dazed  at  the 
admiration  excited  by  her  daughter.  She 
was  not  bad  at  heart,  but  simply  vain  and 
foolish,  enjoying  to  the  full  anything  which 
contributed  to  her  greatness  or  brought  her 
into  notice.  She  was  flattered  by  Chiffon's 
success.  Madame  Bassigny's  long  face  and 
also  that  of  the  little  Liron  delighted  her. 
She  looked  at  Chiffon  with  satisfaction,  sur- 
rounded by  her  admirers  and  receiving  their 


190  Cbfffon'0  /Barrfage. 

compliments  with  a  stiffness  produced  rather 
by  astonishment  than  timidity. 

The  Barfleurs  noticed  this  transformation 
with  some  disquietude.  They  thought,  if 
Chiffon  would  be  given  them  when  she  was 
only  rich,  she  might  be  refused  now  that  she 
was  thought  so  beautiful.  It  provoked  H»= 
dame  Barfleur  to  see  M.  de  Trene,  the  hand- 
some Hussar  that  they  had  brought  out,  and 
M.  de  Bernay,  the  delegate,  and  Count  de 
Liron,  the  finest  match  in  the  country,  so 
assiduous  in  their  attentions  to  the  little 
Coryse,  as  she  graciously  called  her.  She 
took  her  seat  near  her  to  watch  them. 

Chiffon  took  it  amiably.  It  mattered  little 
to  her  where  she  was,  as  she  couldn't  talk  to 
Uncle  Marc,,  nor  papa,  nor  to  any  one  she 
loved. 

Her  De  Lussy  cousins  were  there,  Gene- 
vieve  and  her  brother,  but  Coryse  cared  little 
for  them.  Genevieve  was  a  handsome 
woman,  but  thoroughly  worldly  and  en- 
tirely taken  up  with  all  its  follies  and  vani- 
ties. 

All  at  once  Madame  Barfleur  heard  car- 
riage-wheels in  the  court 


CbftFon's  /fcarrfage.  191 

"Oh!  there  he  is!  I  thought  he  had  not 
returned." 

Chiffon  had  seemed  indifferent  to  the  ar- 
rival of  other  guests,  but  showed  her  surprise 
on  the  entrance  of  the  Duke  d'Aubieres. 
She  was  so  delighted  to  see  her  dear  friend 
that  she  jumped  up  to  greet  him. 

"  Oh,  how  charmed  I  am  to  see  you!" 

The  colonel  looked  at  her,  not  fully  recog- 
nizing this  very  elegant  person  who  received 
him  so  graciously.  But  when  he  saw  the 
long  hair  and  the  pretty  little  mouth  smiling 
at  him  so  sweetly,  he  thought  it  must  be 
Chiffon  before  him. 

His  long,  serious  face  expressed  his  aston- 
ishment so  well  that  Coryse  guessed  the 
cause,  and  said: 

"  What?  don't  you  recognize  me  either?** 

All  at  once  she  noticed  that  they  were  ob- 
served, and  she  heard  Madame  Bassigny 
whisper  to  her  mother,  "  She  does  not  seem 
at  all  gruff  with  her  cast-off  lovers." 

Madame  de  Bray  was  annoyed  at  Chiffon's 
conduct,  and  replied  that  she  was  a  perfect 
baby  for  her  age. 

Chifion  thought  they  were  right  to  criti- 


193  Cblffon'3  Carriage. 

cise  her  this  time,  as  she  had  failed  in 
tact. 

The  Duke  d'Aubieres  was  a  little  out  of 
sorts;  he  had  not  expected  to  meet  Chiffon, 
who  went  out  so  little.  Above  all,  he  was 
amazed  to  see  her  nearly  a  woman,  so  well- 
dressed  and  retaining  only  the  long  hair  on 
her  shoulders,  a  little  remnant  of  her  childish 
days.  But  as  he  looked  longer  at  her  he  be- 
came calmer  and  more  resigned  to  the  renun- 
ciation than  if  he  had  seen  her  as  she  appeared 
the  last  time  they  had  met.  If  he  had  ever 
for  an  instant  thought  himself  near  little 
Chiffon  without  fortune,  he  felt  himself  very 
far  from  Miss  d'Avesnes  who  had  become 
rich.  She  appeared  as  another  incarnation 
of  a  being  he  had  formerly  loved  a  long  time 
ago.  He  examined  her  with  a  respectful 
curiosity,  and  gradually  felt  his  passion  les- 
sening toward  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  this  evening, 
colonel?"  Madame  Bassigny  asked.  "Are 
you  fatigued  from  your  journey?" 

"No,  madame;  why  do  you  ask?" 

"  Ob,  you  look  as  if  something  was  the 
matter  1" 


Cbfffon's  Carriage.  196 

He  bowed:  "It  is  probably  a  natural 
expression,  but  fatigue  has  nothing  to  do 
with  it." 

Madame  Barfleur,  who  could  not,  as  she 
ardently  wished,  place  Coryse  near  her  son, 
desired,  however,  to  escape  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  handsome  Irene  and  M.  de 
Bernay,  both  in  the  marriage  market  and 
fortune-hunters.  She  therefore  installed  the 
little  d'Avesnes  between  the  Duke  d'Aubieres 
and  M.  de  Liron,  thinking  she  would  be  out 
of  danger. 

During  the  dinner  Chiffon  was  delighted  at 
being  near  the  colonel,  and  talked  gayly 
upon  subjects  equally  interesting  to  them. 
They  chatted  about  Uncle  Marc,  and  Gri- 
bouille  and  Josephine,  also  about  pictures 
and  art  generally.  The  Duke  d'Aubieres 
was  very  intelligent  and  much  more  high- 
ly cultivated  in  these  matters  than  most 
others. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  dinner,  when  con- 
versation became  a  little  louder  and  they  felt 
that  no  one  observed  them,  Chiffon  told  him 
in  a  low  tone  of  the  advances  of  the  Barfleurs 
to  her,  and  of  Father  Ragon's  insinuations, 


194  Cbtffon's  /Carriage. 

and  of  his  little  manoeuvres  against  which 
she  had  to  struggle. 

The  duke  asked  what  her  Uncle  Marc  said 
to  all  this? 

"  Oh,  he  thinks  them  idiots,  and  yet  he 
wished  me  to  dine  here  this  evening,  and 
gave  me  a  new  dress  to  wear.  I  don't  know 
what  is  the  matter  with  Uncle  Marc,  but  for 
some  time  he  seems  changed;  he  is  no  longer 
the  same  with  me." 

44  How  is  that?" 

44  I  can't  explain  it  to  you.  He  is  so  strange. 
He  upsets  me  without  my  having  deserved 
it — about  nothing;  but  it  is  something  not- 
withstanding." 

"  I  will  go  and  see  him  to-morrow.  I  said 
good-by  the  day  I  ran  away,  after  my  dis- 
missal." 

44  Oh,  d  propos  to  that — "  and  Chiffon  raised 
her  clear  eyes  timidly  to  the  duke  and  asked 
him  if  he  was  angry  with  her? 

He  answered  that  anger  was  not  the 
word;  that  he  had  become  wiser,  and  h« 
thanked  her  for  having  been  so  sensible  and 
kind. 

After   a  moment  she  said:    "You  wert 


Cbiffon's  fl&arrlage.  195 

coming  to  see  Uncle  Marc  to-morrow.  It  is 
the  Sunday  of  the  races." 

"  Oh  yes,  but  I  will  come  and  see  Marc  in 
the  morning." 

"  You  know  there  is  a  ball  at  the  house  in 
the  evening?  Still  another  bother!  Apropos, 
the  little  prince  you  introduced  to  us  is  very 
charming;  they  are  giving  the  ball  in  his 
honor." 

"  So  you  find  my  little  prince  nice?" 

"  Oh  yes,  now  I  do,  but  at  first  I  thought 
him  a  little  ordinary;  now  we  have  become 
great  friends." 

After  dinner  Madame  Barfleur  asked  Chif- 
fon to  serye  coffee  with  her  son,  and  asked 
her  guests  if  they  would  permit  smoking;  in 
that  case  they  would  have  the  gentlemen 
with  them. 

Coryse  had  hoped  the  smoking-room  would 
relieve  her  of  "  Two  farthings  of  butter  "  whose 
lover-like  manner  and  veiled  phrases  annoyed 
her  dreadfully.  She  made  a  face  and  took 
her  seat  in  the  corner,  while  Genevieve  de 
Lussy,  already  launched  in  society  and  quite 
a  woman  of  the  world,  and  the  little  Liron 
ilirted  with  their  admirers  and  formed  a  little 


196  Gbtffon's  /fcarrfage. 

group  apart.  This  annoyed  Madame  de  Bray 
who  beckoned  to  Chiffon  to  come  to  her,  and 
in  a  low  tone  full  of  anger  told  her  not  to 
stay  any  longer  in  the  corner  like  a  simple- 
ton. 

"  What  shall  I  talk  about?" 

"  Oh,  it  makes  no  difference  what ;  you 
must  join  in  the  conversation." 

The  little  girl  took  her  seat  much  per- 
plexed. She  did  not  understand  talking  and 
not  saying  anything.  Always  occupied  with 
her  studies  or  childish  things,  she  was  not  at 
home  in  this  purely  worldly  conversation. 
She  remained  silent  trying  to  get  in  a  word; 
then  she  gave  it  up,  notwithstanding  her 
mother's  angry  expression.  While  she  was 
dreaming  of  Uncle  Marc,  who  at  this  moment 
was  probably  reading  his  newspapers,  or  of 
Gribouille  who  should  be  eating  his  soup,  she 
noticed  a  movement  in  the  room.  They  were 
discussing  the  authenticity  of  a  portrait  of 
Henry  the  Fourth  which  hung  opposite  the 
place  where  she  was  sitting.  Little  Barfleur 
took  an  enormous  lamp  which  he  found  hard 
to  carry,  and  climbing  upon  a  chair  tried  to 
throw  more  light  upon  the  picture.  The 


Cbiffon'3  Carriage.  197 

king's  bony  and  energetic  face  seemed  to  be 
detached  and  almost  to  come  out  of  the  old 
faded  canvas. 

When  Chiffon  saw  its  ugly  but  fascinating 
head  she  exclaimed,  "  There  is  a  man  who  had 
not  an  atom  of  Protestantism  in  him — Henry 
the  Fourth !" 

There  was  perfect  silence,  and  Chiffon  re- 
membered at  once  that  the  Lirons  were 
Protestants.  Wishing  to  change  the  conver- 
sation she  added: 

"  It's  owing  to  him  that  I  have  such  a  funny 
name!" 

"What!"  asked  little  Barfleur  with  polite 

• 

eagerness — "  a  ridiculous  name?" 

"Yes — Corysande!  didn't  you  know  they 
called  me  that?" 

"  Oh  yes,  but  it  is  beautiful,  on  the  con- 
trary." 

"  That  depends  upon  one's  taste!" 

"  What  has  Henry  the  Fourth  to  do  with 
this  name  you  dislike  so  much?" 

"  He  is  the  cause  without  being  entirely  so; 
it  is  in  remembrance  of  the  beautiful  Cory- 
sande." 

Seeing  that  "  Two  farthings  of  butter"  did 


198  Cbifton'a  jflfcarrfage. 

not  quite  understand,  she  repeated,  "The 
beautiful  Corysande?  You  know  about  it?" 

He  answered  at  random,  but  without  con- 
viction, "  Perfectly  1" 

"You  don't  seem  to  understand  entirely. 
She  was  the  Countess  of  Guiche,  and  she  was 
the  godmother  of  one  of  the  Avesnes  in  1589. 
Since  that  time  all  of  the  Avesnes  have 
called  their  daughters  Corysande.  This  is 
the  tradition !" 

"This  is  interesting!  but  I  don't  yet  see 
what  Henry  the  Fourth  had  to  do  with  it." 

"  I  said  that  you  did  not  seem  to  understand 
it.  Henry  the  Fourth  had  something  to  do 
with  it,  and  from  the  great  celebrity  of  the 
beautiful  Corysande  they  were  flattered  in 
having  her  for  a  godmother,  and  the  tra- 
dition became  established.  She  is  famous, 
the  lovely  Corysande,  because  Henry  the 
Fourth " 

44  Yes!  Oh  yes!"  Madame  Barfleur  chimed 
in,  fearing  to  see  her  son's  ignorance  brought 
out  more  to  light;  although  very  ignorant 
herself,  she  saw  her  son's  danger,  and  like 
many  women  of  her  stamp  possessed  the  tact 
of  silence. 


Gb(ffonf0  Carriage.  10& 

The  Duke  d'Aubieres  looked  at  the  other 
j/ortraits,  and,  pointing  to  a  general  of  the 
Empire,  asked  who  he  was. 

*  Two  farthings  of  butler"  looked  askance 
at  his  ancestor  with  indifference,  a  big  man 
leaning  on  his  sword,  in  the  pose  of  General 
Fournier-Sarlovege  de  Gras.  "  That  is  my 
grandfather." 

"Oh!"  Chiffon  cried  out,  "he  does  not  re- 
«emble  you ;"  and  looking  kindly  at  General 
Barfleur  she  added,  "  It  is  not  strange  that 
Buch  men  should  do  great  things !" 

"  There  was  only  one  misfortune  about  it," 
his  grandson  declared,  "  it  was  all  done  for 
the  glory  of  Bonaparte." 

"  For  the  glory  of  France,  you  mean," 
Chiffon  suggested. 

"  No !"  little  Barfleur  answered,  "  it  was  for 
Bonaparte  alone,  and  Bonaparte  will  ever  be 
a  usurper  in  the  eyes  of  the  world— an  enemy 
of  France." 

"  Did  you  say  in  the  eyes  of  men  of  the 
world?"  Chiffon's  ears  were  red  with  excite- 
ment. "  The  emperor  an  enemy  of  France? 
Those  who  returned  from  Coblentz  have 
dared  to  call  him  this.  Those  who  would 


200  Cbtffon's  dBarrfage. 

have  rejoiced  to  have  seen  France  invaded 
and  to  reach  a  very  fine  result — Louis  the 
Eighteenth !" 

Little  Barfleur  declared  warmly,  happy  in 
being  able  to  find  a  subject  for  conversation: 
"  Louis  the  Eighteenth  was  a  great  king!" 

"A  great  king! — this  goldbeater's  skin? 
but  you  care  nothing  for  that.  You  are  only 
a  black-heart  cherry  at  the  bottom.  You 
defend  the  king  as  you  go  to  mass,  a  thing  of 
fashion.  It  is  not  fashionable  to  be  an  Im- 
perialist, they  are  all  snares  and  bullies." 

"  Thanks  for  the  Imperialists,  Miss  Coryse," 
the  Duke  d' Aubieres  said  laughingly,  bowing 
toward  her. 

Madame  de  Bray  ran  tip  to  Chiffon,  and  in 
a  low  but  threatening  tone  told  her  to  stop 
talking  in  that  foolish  manner. 

"This  doesn't  surprise  me!  but  why  do 
they  amuse  themselves  in  bedaubing  my 
emperor?  And  besides,  you  have  told  me  to 
talk,  no  matter  what  I  said,  only  to  talk." 

Distressed  lest  her  young  heir  should  em- 
bark in  another  conversation,  Madame  de 
Barfleur  took  her  seat  at  the  piano.  A  dance, 
she  thought*  would  be  pleasant. 


Cbfffon'0  Carriage.  201 

At  once  the  handsome  Trene,  M.  de  Ber- 
nay,  and  Count  de  Liron  ran  toward  Chiffon; 
but  little  Barfleur  being  nearer  seized  the 
young  girl  quickly. 

Coryse  rather  repelled  this  arm  around  her 
waist,  and  looked  toward  the  duke  to  come 
to  her  aid;  but  she  thought  quickly  that  this 
would  be  of  no  avail,  as  her  vague  notions  of 
politeness  made  her  think  it  necessary  to 
dance  at  least  once  with  the  master  of  the 
house. 

If  the  descendant  of  the  Barfleurs  talked 
badly  he  waltzed  well,  and  Chiffon  took  great 
pleasure  in  being  whirled  across  the  big 
drawing-room.  Her  partner  took  her  into 
the  gallery,  in  which,  though  badly  lighted, 
he  thought  they  would  have  more  room. 
Chiffon  looked  for  the  other  dancers,  Gene- 
vieve  de  Lussy  and  Madame  de  Lirou. 

The  viscount  stopped  a  moment  and  went 
toward  the  door  to  call  them,  and  reported 
that  they  were  coming. 

Taking  Chiffon  they  danced  off  again. 
They  remained  alone,  however,  in  the  big 
room.  Madame  de  Liron  only  loved  to 
waltz  before  people,  and  Madame  de  Lussy 


203  CbflTcn's 

understood  her  daughter  so  well  that  she  did 
not  permit  her  to  go  far  away  from  the  ma- 
ternal  eye. 

"  Madame  de  Liron  is  thought  very  pretty, 
is  she  not?"  Chiffon  asked.  Since  the  morn- 
ing the  image  of  the  young  woman  haunted 
her  and  she  couldn't  help  talking  about 
her. 

Little  Barfleur  replied  in  an  absent  way: 
"Your  Uncle  de  Bray  thinks  her  very 
pretty !" 

"  Ah !"  Corsye  said  gravely. 

"  But  what  do  you  think  of  her,  Mitss 
Coryse?" 

"  A  little  too  rapid;  what  do  you  think?" 

"I?"  "  Two  farthings  of butter"  answered, 
pressing  Coryse  a  little  against  his  shoulder, 
"  I  see  you  only.  You  are  so  pretty !  so  per- 
fectly lovely !"  and  he  added  in  a  low  tone, 
"  it  is  you  that  I  love !" 

Chiffon  did  not  quite  understand,  and 
abandoned  herself  entirely  to  the  pleasure  of 
dancing  with  a  fine  waltzer. 

Emboldened  by  this,  he  leaned  toward  her, 
whispering  in  a  tone  which  he  tried  to  make 
passionate:  "  I  love  your 


Cbiffon's  Carriage,  203 

He  was  so  near  her  that  his  breath  seemed 
to  blow  away  her  hair.  She  stopped  short, 
stupefied,  and  turning  away  abruptly  with  an 
amazed  and  indignant  look,  said: 

"  This  is  indeed  rapid  1    A  little  steep  P 


CHAPTER  XHI, 

"  WILL  you  say  to  Corysande  that  she  must 
come  to  the  races?  She  declares  that  she 
does  not  wish  to  go."  The  marchioness  ran 
into  the  library  where  M.  de  Bray  and  Marc 
were  smoking,  with  this  complaint. 

Chiffon  came  in  behind  her  mother,  saying 
that  she  did  not  wish  to  go,  as  she  had  never 
been  urged  to  do  so  before. 

"  No,  but  you  were  then  a  child." 

The  marquis  thought  he  would  speak  to 
her:  "Go,  my  Chiffon,  you  love  horses  so 
much." 

"  It  is  just  because  I  love  horses  that  I  hate 
races.  It  doesn't  amuse  me  to  see  one  kick 
about  with  a  broken  foot,  as  at  Auteuil,  two 
years  ago,  the  day  you  took  me." 

"  But  an  accident  like  that  may  not 
happen." 

"  Like  that  or  any  other,  it  makes  no  differ- 
ence to  me.     It  is  not  for  that  alone  that  I 
don't  wish  to  go  to  the  races." 
ft* 


Cbitton's  Carriage.  205 

*You  should  not  say,  'I  don't  v/ish,"  M. 
de  Bray  said  kindly. 

Chiffon  corrected  herself,  "  I  should  prefer 
not  to  go  to  the  races." 

"Why  is  that?" 

"  Because  it  bores  me  to  be  among  such  a 
lot  of  people.  I  love  to  be  alone — with  my 
animals;  or  with  you  two.  I  am  in  earnest! 
This  morning  it  was  mass;  in  a  short  time 
the  races;  this  evening  a  ball.  It  is  too 
much  for  one  day,  all  this." 

Madame  de  Bray  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven: 
"Mass!  she  puts  mass  in  the  same  bag  with 
the  rest !" 

Chiffon,  bristling  with  anger,  answered: 

"  Yes,  certainly.  This  morning  you  would 
not  allow  me  to  go  to  Saint  Marcien,  giving 
as  a  pretext  that  you  needed  John  at  the 
house  for  the  evening  preparations.  Well? 
You  took  me  with  you  to  the  Jesuits,  and 
their  mass  is  not  like  a  mass!  it  is  like 
a  five  o'clock  reception,  which  is  in  the 
morning.  They  greet  each  other,  wait  in 
the  garden  until  everybody  goes  out. 
To-day  you  have  spoken  to  more  than  fifty 
people  I" 


206  Cbfffon's  fl&arrfage. 

"  But  you  spoke  to  them  also,  why  do  yon 
complain?" 

"  It  is  just  this  which  I  dislike !" 

"I  can't  understand  being  bored  with 
society." 

"  This  depends  upon  one's  taste!  I  have  a 
horror  of  it !  Seeing  them  this  morning  and 
again  to-night  is  enough  for  me.  I  will  have 
had  my  fill  of  society  without  being  dragged 
to  -the  races.  If  I  am  annoyed  all  day  in  this 
way  I  will  go  to  sleep  in  the  drawing-room 
to-night." 

The  marchioness  was  discouraged :  "  This 
child  is  perfectly  incorrigible.  I  must  give 
up  trying  to  do  anything  with  her!"  She  left 
the  room  in  a  huff. 

Chiffon  stretched  herself  on  the  divan  like 
a  big  dog.  "  It  is  all  the  same  to  me,  her 
whims  P 

M.  de  Bray  told  her  he  could  not  under- 
stand why  she  would  not  go  with  her  mother 
to  the  races. 

44  You  will  understand  if  you  will  go  with 
her." 

*  I  have  a  frightful  cold  and  am  scarcely 
presentable  here." 


Cbiflfon'e 

"  And  I  am  disgusted  with  my  dinner  yes- 
terday !" 

Uncle  Marc  then  asked  how  the  dinner 
went  off. 

"  Oh  as  much  of  a  bore  as  ever!  but  fortu- 
nately M.  d'Aubieres  was  there;  but  for  that 
I  don't  know  how  I  could  have  borne  it." 

"Oh!"  the  marquis  asked,  "  so  d'Aubierea 
has  returned?" 

"Yes,"  Uncle  Marc  answered,  "he  came 
this  morning  when  you  were  out.  He  wanted 
to  see  you,  and  excused  himself  for  not  re- 
turning the  other  evening  to  say  good-by  to 
your  wife  and  yourself;  but  he  was  not  in 
spirits,  poor  man,  after  his  walk  with  Chiffon 
in  the  garden.  Do  you  know  what  Chiffon 
said  to  him  in  this  walk?  Don't  try  to  guess; 
you  never  can.  She  said  very  prettily  to  him, 
'I  want  you  to  know  why  I  can't  marry  you. 
I  don't  wish  it,  because  I  am  sure  that  I 
would  deceive  you. ' " 

M.  de  Bray  began  to  laugh  also,  but  Coryse 
shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  So  you  find  this  funny,  do  you?  I  suppose 
it  would  have  been  better  for  him  to  have 
imagined  a  lot  of  other  things." 


238  Cbfffon'0  Carriage. 

"Indeed,"  Uncle  Marc  answered,  "I  don't 
think  you  could  have  said  anything  worse." 

She  asked  him  gravely :  "  Do  you  think  he 
wants  to  marry  me  now?" 

"  He !  poor  man,  he  does  not  even  dream 
of  it!" 

"  That  is  a  lucky  thing !  I  thought  so !  He 
was  so  nice  during  the  dinner.  I  was  just  in 
the  humor  to  be  near  him !" 

"  Well,  it  is  all  over  now?" 

"  But  my  mother  has  not  told  you." 

"  I  have  not  seen  her  since  breakfast,  and 
we  did  not  talk  of  the  dinner." 

"  Well,  I  ran  on  a  little,  first  about  Henry 
the  Fourth." 

"  What  did  you  have  to  say  about  him?" 
M.  de  Bray  asked  with  quite  a  surprised 
expression. 

"  They  were  looking  at  his  portrait  and  I 
said  that  he  had  not  a  particle  of  the  Protest- 
ant in  him.  Then  you  know — on  account  of 
the  Lirons  that  was  a  great  mistake." 

"  Oh,"  Uncle  Marc  answered,  "  if  you  had 
not  said  that !rt 

"  Well,  I  said  other  things  also: — but  it  is  all 
my  mother's  fault.  She  called  me  to  her  and 


Cbfffon's  d&arrfage.  209 


said  I  must  talk  even  if  I  said  nothing;  and 
as  soon  as  I  found  something  she  jumped 
upon  me." 

"  Well,  let  us  hear  the  second  mistake?" 
Uncle  Marc  asked  with  great  interest. 

"  Well,  it  was  not  exactly  that,  but  I  was 
angry  and  said  things  I  should  not.  It  was  & 
fropos  of  Napoleon." 

"  Oh  !"  M.  de  Bray  said,  "  if  they  attacked 
Napoleon  -  "  • 

"Yes,  they  did,  and  that  made  me  more 
angry." 

"  Did  you  lose  your  temper?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know;"  and  after  a  silence 
she  added,  "  I  behaved  better  than  the  master 
of  the  house." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  this?  I  thought 
M.  de  Barfleur  was  the  perfection  of  good 
manners." 

*  Not  with  me  —  always." 

"What  has  he  done?" 

Blushing  at  the  recollection  of  the  evening 
before,  and  bristling  with  anger,  she  said, 
"  He  has  spoken  too  affectionately  to  me." 

"  How  is  that?"  Uncle  Marc  asked. 

u  Well,  he  said  thee  and  thou  to  me;  it  hap- 
14 


210  Cbitfon'0  fl&arrtajje. 

pened  while  we  were  waltzing.  He  took  me 
in  the  gallery,  pretending  that  we  had  net- 
room  enough  in  the  ball-room.  Then  he  be- 
gan to  say  that  Madame  de  Liron  was  a  little 
fast, — no,  I  am  mixing  up  things;  I  said  this 
to  him.  He  told  me  that  I  was  pretty,  that  I 
alone  was  beautiful " 

As  she  then  became  silent  Uncle  Marc 
questioned  her  further:  "  And  then?" 

"  Then  all  at  once  he  leaned  toward  me 
and — "  imitating  the  voice  of  little  Barfleur 
— "  whispered  with  all  his  concentrated 
passion :  '/  love  thee* ' " 

Her  intonation  was  so  funny  that  Uncle 
Marc,  in  spite  of  annoyance,  began  to  laugh. 

Coryse  was  a  little  wounded,  and  turning 
toward  him  and  her  step-father  she  said: 
*  You  think  this  funny,  do  you?" 

11.  de  Bray,  always  anxious  to  conciliate, 
said  in  a  mild  tone :  "  The  English  say  thee 
and  thou  to  God!" 

Chiffon  answered  boldly,  "Because  they 
are  muzzled!" 

"  Oh,  very  well !"  the  marquis  said,  a  little 
annoyed  at  the  poor  success  of  his  observa- 
tion, "  you  have  your  own  way  of  talking." 


CbitTon's  jflfcarrfage,  211 

After  thinking  a  moment  she  asked  if  this 
joking  was  goirg  to  continue. 

Her  step-father  not  understanding,  she  an- 
swered, "  About  little  Barfleur.  I  don't  want 
to  make  a  serious  matter  of  it,  but  I  am  not 
flattered  at  your  thinking  that  I  might  marry 
Two  farthings  of  butter  T 

The  marquis  timidly  whispered,  "  He  is 
nice !" 

"Nice — yes,  but  so  grotesque  and  un- 
healthy looking,  and  dresses  peculiarly,  and 
perfumes  himself  with  white  heliotrope ;  that 
is  enough !" 

"  Why !  a  man  can  sometimes  use  a  little 
perfume  without  all  that." 

"  No,"  Chiffon  declared,  "  a  man  has  no 
right  to  smell  of  anything  but  tobacco." 
Turning  to  Uncle  Marc  she  said : 

"You  are  laughing!  You  think  this  all 
very  funny?  You  above  all  are  joining  the 
others  in  being  unkind  to  me — yes,  unkind! 
This  began  a  long  time  ago,  but  lately  it  has 
increased.  Since  the  evening  when  this  de- 
testable little  Barfleur  dined  at  the  house." 

As  the  viscount  protested,  she  continued  in 
the  most  excited  way :  "  Oh,  1  don't  say  that 


213  Cbiffon'5  /K>arrtage» 

"You  must  pardon  me;  it  is  instinctive." 
you  are  not  kind  to  me !  in  giving  me  dresses 
and  beautiful  presents.  You  gave  me  the 
lovely  frock  that  I  am  going  to  wear  this 
evening;  it  is  a  great  deal  more  stylish  than 
the  one  papa  gave  me.  Yes — you  give  me 
things,  but  when  it  comes  to  loving  me ! — that 
is  much  more  1" 

"  But  I  do." 

"No,  you  don't!  if  you  loved  me,  could 
you  be  willing  to  see  me  marry  a  monkey 
like  little  Barfleur?" 

44  But  I  never  said  anything  about  this." 

"  You  said  nothing  for  it,  but  nothing 
against  it,  and  I  don't  wish  to  marry  a  mon- 
key." She  walked  toward  Uncle  Marc  and 
went  on  to  say  bitterly: 

"  It  is  your  fault  then,  tormenting  me ;  if 
they  wish  to  marry  me — yes,  it  is  the  fault 
of  your  dirty  money!  but  for  that  they 
would  let  me  be  quiet  in  my  little  corner  as 
before." 

Hiding  her  face  in  her  hands  she  sobbed 
„  convulsively. 

"  Let  her  alone,"  Marc  said  to  his  brother, 
AS  he  approached  the  little  girl  and  wanted 


Cbfffon's  flBarttage.  213 

to  talk  to  her.  "  She  is  nervous;  let  her  cry 
a  little — it  will  do  her  good." 

As  the  marquis  left  the  library  he  paused, 
and,  seeing  Chiffon  still  crying,  he  said: 
"  This  nervous  attack  is  a  new  thing  for  this 
child !  If  she  was  in  love  with  some  one  I 
would  not  be  surprised !" 

"  You  are  foolish,"  Marc  said  with  some 
bewilderment.  "  Who  could  she  be  in  love 
with?  Can't  be  Irene,  that  perfectly  insipid 
fellow  who  would  beat  his  wife  and  throw 
away  her  fortune;  nor  Bernay — she  hates 
hypocrites.  Nor  Liron,  an  idiot!" 

As  his  brother  was  silent  he  asked  excit- 
edly, "  Who! — who  is  it?" 

M.  de  Bray  answered  coldly :  "  How  can  I 
tell?" 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"WHERE  has  Uncle  Marc  gone?"  Chiffon 
asked  on  entering  the  drawing-room  in  the 
evening,  a  few  moments  before  the  arrival  of 
the  guests.  "  I  have  looked  for  him  every- 
where and  can't  find  him." 

"  You  know,"  the  marquis  told  her,  "  that 
he  is  not  visible  this  evening.  What  do  you 
want  him  for?" 

"  I  want  to  show  him  my  new  dress.  He 
has  only  seen  it  in  the  daylight,  and,  bless 
me!  in  the  evening  I  look  so  much  better!" 

"  You  can  show  it  to  him  another  time;  he 
is  out  of  sorts  this  evening."  He  added 
laughingly,  "  It  seems  to  me  that  everybody 
is  nervous  to-day." 

"  Yes,"  Coryse  said,  "  I  noticed  his  mood  at 
dinner.  What  do  you  think  is  the  cause?" 

The  marchioness  accused  him  of  having  a 
bad  temper. 

"Oh I"  Chiffon  protested  with  animation, 
814 


Cbffton's  /Carriage.  215 

*  that  is  not  so !"    Returning  to  her  idea,  she 
thought  she  would  hunt  him  up. 

Her  mother  said  "Not"  angrily.  "The 
guests  have  begun  to  arrive." 

The  bright  face  of  the  little  girl  was 
clouded. 

"Yes,  you  are  right;  it  is  ten  o'clock.  I 
wonder  who  it  is  who  has  come  first?  I  bet 
it  is  that  old  bore  Bassigny !" 

It  was  Madame  Bassigny,  squeezed  in  a 
brilliant  silvery  dress;  followed  by  the  colo- 
nel tightly  belted,  also,  in  a  uniform  a  little 
narrow  for  him,  and  which  made  a  crease  in 
his  back  up  to  his  shoulders.  Madame  Bas- 
signy seemed  annoyed  at  being  the  first  to 
arrive.  She  thought  it  unfashionable,  and 
threw  it  all  on  the  colonel. 

In  a  very  marked  way  she  asked  Coryse  if 
her  political  discussion  the  evening  before 
had  prevented  her  from  sleeping. 

The  little  girl  replied  that  she  had  slept 
well,  and  always  did,  even  after  the  most 
stupid  evening. 

The  arrival  of  other  guests  interrupted  thia 
conversation,  which  had  taken  a  little  dis- 
agreeable turn. 


818  Cblffon'a  Carriage. 

Little  Barfleur  entered,  clinging  to  the 
skirts  of  his  mother  and  evidently  uneasy  at 
the  result  of  his  proposal.  He  thought  that 
he  had  been  too  passionate  and  would  change 
his  conduct  a  little. 

The  indifferent  manner  in  which  Chiffon 
received  him,  evidently  having  forgotten  it 
all,  reassured  him,  and  recovering  his  aplomb 
he  ran  about  the  rooms,  filling  them  with  his 
foppish  and  small  personality. 

The  entrance  of  Count  d'Axen  had  the 
effect  of  a  shower-bath  upon  him.  He  began 
by  examining  him  closely,  and  with  great 
respect,  somewhat  overwhelmed  by  the  pres- 
ence of  a  genuine  prince.  Soon,  however,  he 
forgot  the  prince  and  saw  only  a  rival.  The 
arrival  of  this  gentleman,  younger  and  hand- 
somer than  himself,  lowered  considerably  his 
prestige. 

When  the  orchestra  began,  Two  farthings 
of  butter  ran  up  to  Coryse,  but  at  the  moment 
she  was  whirled  away  by  Count  d'Axen.  He 
clearly  saw  to  his  distress  that  the  prince 
danced  the  three-step  waltz  wonderfully,  as 
the  men  of  his  country  all  do.  Not  only 
would  he  be  the  honored  guest,  but  also  the 


CbttTon's  flbarrfage.  217 

most  distinguished,  and  moreover  he  fully 
merited  all  the  attention  he  would  receive. 

All  this  gave  little  Barfleur  pain.  He  ran 
up  to  Madame  de  Liron,  who  had  just  arrived, 
followed  by  her  husband  and  brother-in-law. 
She  was  brilliant  and  delicious  in  the  rose- 
colored  frock  which  had  been  seen  at  the 
dressmaker's.  He  eagerly  asked  for  a  waltz. 

But  the  little  Liron  was  anxious  above 
everything  to  have  her  entree  noticed  by 
Count  d'Axen,  and  knowing  that  small  men 
do  not  show  off  women,  especially  in  the 
dance,  she  replied  in  a  somewhat  sharp  tone 
to  his  unseasonable  eagerness: 

"  Soon  I  will  dance  with  you !  I  have  just 
come.  Let  me  breathe  a  little !"  Then  turn- 
ing toward  the  marquis,  she  said :  "  Is  it 
really  so,  that  that  bear  of  a  brother  of  yours 
is  not  here?" 

"Really  so!" 

44  And  won't  he  appear  at  all?" 

"  Not  this  evening." 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  the  ceiling:  "  He  13 
up  there;  above  all  this  noise?" 

"  It  is  so." 

"What  is  that  to  her,"  Chiffon   thought, 


218  Cbfffon's 

"where  he  is?"  &s  she  gazed  at  the  young 
woman  looking  so  brilliant  and  fresh  under 
her  diadem  of  diamonds.  Nothing  in  this 
plump  doll  with  roguish  eyes  and  somewhat 
vulgar  lines  pleased  Chiffon.  But  on  seeing 
the  enthusiasm  excited  by  the  little  Liron  she 
tried  to  understand  this  admiration  which  she 
could  not  explain.  "  She  does  look  very 
pretty  I" 

The  Duke  d'Aubieres  came  up  to  speak  to 
her. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about,  Miss 
Coryse?  You  look  like  a  little  conspira- 
tor!" 

Coryse  blushed  and  answered,  "  Nothing." 

"  Ah,  now  you  have  a  preoccupied  look — I 
would  say  gloomy,  if  this  dreadful  black 
word  could  apply  to  you." 

When  the  little  girl  stammered  an  insig- 
nificant reply,  he  asked  affectionately : 

"  Has  something  distressed  you?  Has  some- 
thing happened  that  is  not  as  you  wish?" 

"  Oh  no !  I  have  no  sorrow — nothing/ 
Chiffon  said  earnestly.  Wishing  to  end  these 
rather  embarrassing  questions,  she  began  in 
her  turn : 


CbttTon'fl  /Carriage.  210 

"  Uncle  Marc's  election  is  certain,  is  it  not?" 

"  I  think  so !  but  he  does  not  seem  to  care 
much  about  it !  I  saw  him  this  morning,  and 
he  didn't  say  three  words  about  it.  He 
seemed  to  forget  that  to-morrow  is  Sunday. 
He  also  has  a  preoccupied  look!" 

"  Ah !"  the  little  girl  uttered  with  a  dis- 
tressed expression,  and  she  thought  at  once, 
"  It  is  probably  Madame  de  Lircn  who  fills 
his  thoughts." 

The  colonel  noticed  Coryse's  vague  expres- 
sion and  the  compression  of  her  lips. 

"  Oh,  you  are  far  away  from  here  now, 
Miss  Chiffon!  Very  far  away  in  the  blue 
country." 

She  answered  without  knowing  how  ex- 
actly, "  Oh,  not  so  blue  as  all  that." 

They  were  gradually  nearing  a  big  bay 
window  opening  on  the  garden.  A  storm 
seemed  to  be  coming  up;  a  leaden  heat  over- 
came them. 

"  They  are  stifling  in  there!"  Chiffon  said, 
shaking  her  heavy  hair.  She  went  out,  fol- 
lowed by  M.  d'Aubieres. 

"Look  there,"  the  duke  said,  his  nose  in 
the  air,  "  there  he  is — that  animal  Marc  I  he 


220  Gbfffon's 

walks  about  his  room  forgetting  that  we  can 
see  him  down  here." 

Chiffon  looked  up  and  saw  her  Uncle  Marc's 
tall  silhouette  which  stood  out  from  the  bright 
frame  of  the  window. 

"  Oh  yes!  there  he  is." 

Madame  de  Liron  came  into  the  garden  on 
the  arm  of  M.  de  Bray.  She  also  saw  the 
viscount.  She  said  impulsively,  "  What  a 
good  joke  it  would  be  to  go  up  and  see  your 
brother!  What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  the  marquis  replied  with  a 
little  embarrassment. 

"  Oh,  let  us  do  it,  it  would  be  great  fun  to 
go  up  in  a  provincial  fashion." 

Turning  to  the  colonel :  "  Will  you,  M. 
d'Aubieres?" 

"  Oh  no,  madame.  I  would  be  afraid  that 
my  friend  Marc  would  show  me  the  door." 

"  And  would  he  put  me  out  also?" 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer  she  turned 
toward  M.  de  Bray : 

"  If  I  go  up  very  quietly  by  the  library 
steps  it  would  be  fun — hey !" 

"  Excellent !"  Chiffon  said  in  rather  an  im- 
pertinent tone. 


Cbtffon'0  flbarrtage.  221 

*M.  de  Bray,  do  take  me  tip,  won't  you?" 

"  I  must  do  so  many  things  here,  madame," 
much  embarrassed  by  her  importunity,  "  but 
the  Duke  d'Aubieres  will  conduct  you  to  the 
staircase  with  pleasure ;"  and  the  duke  offered 
his  arm. 

Coryse  remained  alone. 
The  handsome  Irene,  looking  so  slight  in 
his  uniform  of  the  Hussars,  came  down  the 
steps! 

"At  last  I  can  bow  to  you,  Missd'Avesnes!" 

Chiffon,  who  was  running  away  to  follow 
M.  d'Aubieres  and  Madame  de  Liron,  was 
somewhat  annoyed  at  being  stopped  in  her 
.flight. 

She  answered  a  little  disagreeably:  "You 
have  bowed  to  me  before." 

She  spoke  a  little  loud.  Uncle  Marc's  sil- 
houette disappeared  a  moment,  came  on  the 
balcony,  and  there  remained  motionless. 

"  I  did  bow  to  you  when  I  came  in,  but  did 
not  compliment  you  upon  your  beautiful 
frock." 

Coryse  didn't  answer,  and  he  went  on  in 
a  mysterious  way  full  ot  innuendo  and  non- 
sense :  "  After  all,  is  it  the  toilette  which  is 


223  Cbtffon's  /fcarrfage. 

pretty?  I  won't  pay  you  a  foolish  compli- 
ment in  saying  what  you  have  heard  a  hun- 
dred times  since  yesterday  evening;  but  you 
are " 

Chiffon  interrupted  him,  laughing:  "Oh 
yes,  charming!  everybody  agrees  to  that!" 

Anxious  to  slip  away  she  added  a  little 
brusquely:  "If  -that  is  all  you  have  to 
say " 

M.  de  Trene  answered,  "  I  wanted  to  beg 
for  a  waltz?" 

"  Which  one?" 

"  Any  that  you  will  deign  to  give  me?  the 
first  if  you  can." 

"  The  first  is  for  Count  d'Axen." 

"What;  another?" 

"  Do  you  count  the  number  of  dances  I  give 
each  man?"  Coryse  asked. 

She  stopped  suddenly.  It  seemed  to  her  as 
if  Uncle  Marc  was  leaning  over  the  balcony 
listening,  but  she  did  not  dare  to  look  up, 
indicating  her  thoughts. 

The  handsome  Trene  went  on  to  engage 
the  second  waltz. 

"That  is  M.  d'Aubieres';  do  you  want  the 
fourth?  I  must  go  now." 


CtrtfTon's  Aarrfage.  2*1 

The  Count  d'Axen  came  running  up :  "It 
is  my  waltz,  Miss  Chiffon  I" 

At  the  window  Uncle  Marc's  tall  shadow 
moved  uneasily,  and  Coryse  thought:  "I  bet 
at  this  moment  he  is  angry." 

M.  de  Trene  asked  to  have  the  honor  of 
being  presented  to  his  lordship  the  Count 
d'Axen. 

Chiffon  regretted  being  obliged  to  take  her 
eyes  away  from  the  window,  but  turning  to- 
ward the  prince  presented  M.  de  TrSne. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you,  sir,"  and  the 
Count  d'Axen  in  shaking  hands  told  him  that 
in  the  coming  week  they  would  be  comrades 
in  the  same  regiment. 

"  I  have  been  asked  to  come  to  the  manceu* 
vres,  and  I  will  march  with  you." 

Taking  Chiffon  by  the  waist  he  asked  her 
to  take  a  turn  on  the  grass ;  they  could  hear 
the  music,  and  it  war  stifling  in  tf.e  drawing* 
room. 

She  danced  off  with  him,  not  liking  to  re* 
fuse,  but  fearing,  not  knowing  why,  that  it 
would  displease  Uncle  Marc,  who  remained 
motionless  on  the  balcony. 

When  they  stopped  dancing  the  prince  Mid 


834  Cbfffon'6 

to  Coryse  how  much  he  regretted  not  seeing 
her  uncle. 

44  He  is  in  mourning  and  has  remained  in 
his  room,"  she  replied,  looking  furtively  to- 
ward the  window. 

"What  a  charming  man!  I  like  him  so 
much !  We  were  often  together  in  rides  and 
walks." 

"  Whatr  the  little  girl  thought,  surprised, 
*  he  has  never  told  me  this ;  he  has  not  spoken 
Of  him  since  the  other  evening." 

Count  d'Axen  continued:  **M.  de  Bray 
has  the  finest  mind  I  know." 

"And  a  beautiful  soul:  has  he  not,  my 
lord?"  and  Chiffon  felt  as  if  she  could  em- 
brace the  prince. 

"  I  will  be  so  glad,**  he  continued,  *  if  the 
manoauvres  will  come  off  soon  enough  for  me 
to  go  away  with  him?" 

"Go  away?  Where?"  the  little  girl  asked 
in  her  agony. 

"  Hasn't  he  told  you?" 

*  Yes — yes— a  little." 

"  Well,  soon  after  the  elections  M.  de  Bray 
is  going  to  travel  for  two  months." 


Gbiffon'0  Carriage.  228 


*  He  wishes  to  look  more  closely  into  the 
miseries  of  the  poor  —  in  a  word,  he  wants  to 
do  good.  Miss  Chiffon,  your  uncle  is  one  of 
those  rare  men  who  spend  their  lives  in  doing 
good  which  they  hide  as  crimes." 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  told  him  so  !"  trying  to  mas- 
ter herself  to  keep  from  crying.  The  thought 
of  Uncle  Marc's  going  away  completely  upset 
her.  On  his  return,  if  he  is  elected  he  would 
go  to  Paris,  where  the  Brays  would  not  es- 
tablish themselves  until  the  spring.  She 
would  never  see  him  again  I  Never  again  J 

At  this  moment  the  viscount  leaned  over 
the  balcony,  returning  suddenly  to  his  room. 
Evidently  some  one  had  just  come  in. 

"It  is  she!"  thought  Chiffon,  her  heart 
beating  violently. 

When  the  waltz  ended  she  bowed  to  the 
prince  and  made  her  way  through  the  dancers 
who  were  taking  their  places.  On  reaching 
the  library  she  climbed  the  oaken  stairway 
which  led  directly  to  the  apartment  of  the 
viscount.  She  was  determined  to  see,  to  lis- 
ten, to  know  at  any  hazard  what  was  taking 
place  ;  but  all  at  once  she  stopped,  discour- 
aged "Nol"  she  thought,  "  this  would  be 


f»  CMflten'tf 

disgraceful !  and  then  I  know  all  that  I  can 
knowP 

A  rustling  of  tulle  and  silk  warned  her  that 
some  one  was  coming  down  above  her,  almost 
falling  down  the  steps.  She  squatted  down 
behind  the  staircase.  Gaudy  and  flaunting 
Madame  de  Liron  passed  near  her  and  entered 
the  ball-room,  exclaiming,  to  show  that  her 
visit  was  not  a  secret: 

"Ah!  what  do  you  think?  he  was  not 
pleased,  think  of  it  I  It  would  be  nearer  the 
truth  to  say  that  he  was  not  very  angry  P 

*  She  lies,"  Chiffon  thought,  "  he  was  de- 
lighted!   She    says   that   to   prevent   their 
thinking  this;"    and  going  up  to   the  vis- 
count's room  she  opened  the  door  without 
knocking. 

Seated  near  his  dressing-table,  leaning  his 
head  on  his  arm,  Uncle  Marc  did  not  hear  her 
enter.  In  a  trembling  voice  she  asked 
angrily: 

*  What  has  she  done  to  you?" 

On  hearing  the  voice  of  his  niece  he  got 
up,  somewhat  annoyed. 
"  What  are  you  doing  here — you?" 
When  she   saw  the  poor,  distressed  face 


Cbtffcm's 

turning  threateningly  toward  her,  Chiffon 
felt  only  a  great  pity  for  the  uncle  she  loved 
so  dearly.  She  forgot  everything,  repeating, 
surprised  and  deeply  grieved :  "  Why  do  yott 
cry?  why,  man  Dieu!"  and  timidly,  "is  it  on 
her  account?" 

The  viscount  burst  out  laughing. 

"  I  don't  know  who  you  mean,  but  I  beg 
you  to  return  to  your  dances  and  flirtations. 
Go  and  listen  to  the  compliments  of  that 
brute  de  Irene,  and  waltz  in  the  garden  with 
Count  d'Axen,  if  that  amuses  you;  but  let 
me  be  quiet  in  my  room." 

She  whispered,  "  Quiet !  and  weeping?' 

"  I  will  cry  if  that  amuses  me.** 

Chiffon  saw  in  the  dressing-room  two  biff 
trunks  open.  Doting  on  him  she  asked: 

M  You  go  then  sooner?" 

"Sooner  than  what?  And  how  did  you 
know  that  I  was  going?" 

"  It  was  Count  d'Axen  who * 

He  laughed.  "  Oh,  you  speak  of  me  when 
you  are  together?" 

"  Yes !  he  told  me  that  you  were  going  to 
travel  to  do  good." 

As  he  did  not  answer,  she  asked  in  a  trem- 


938  Gbiffon's  /ftarrfage. 

bling  voice  which  showed  all  her  fears: 
"  What  is  to  become  of  me?" 

Without  looking  at  her  he  answered 
brusquely: 

"Bless  mel  You  don't  think  that  I  can 
take  you  away  with  me?  or  stay  here  to  be 
your  nurse?" 

"  Oh !"  Chiffon  said  in  her  agony,  while  her 
periwinkle  eyes  were  veiled  with  tears,  "  how 
you  speak  to  me,  Uncle  Marc!  how  dread- 
fully you  talk  to  me  1" 

"  Then  why  did  you  come  to  worry  me  in 
this  way?" 

She  stood  a  moment  without  replying, 
motionless  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  rosy  in 
the  cloudy  dress  which  fell  in  straight  lengths 
from  her  hips,  showing  the  pure  lines  of  her 
young  and  strong  little  body.  The  shower 
of  blonde  hair  which  floated  around  her,  fly- 
ing away  by  the  draught  from  the  window, 
made  her  look  like  a  little  fairy,  strange  and 
unreal. 

In  spite  of  himself,  Marc,  who  had  raised 
his  head,  looked  at  her  with  an  expression  of 
great  tenderness  from  the  bottom  of  his  red 
eyes. 


Gbfffon'a  Aartiage.  229 

Too  near-sighted  to  see  this  look,  after 
reflecting  some  time  Chiffon  asked : 

"  Then  from  what  the  prince  tells  me  you 
are  going  away  from  here  to  do  good." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

The  little  girl  continued : 

"  I  can  tell  you  one  to  do,  and  not  far  away 
—a  fine  good  thing?" 

As  he  made  no  reply  she  whispered  In 
stifled  tones :  "  It  would  be  to  marry  me." 

Becoming  very  pale  the  viscount  walked 
toward  her!  "  What  is  it  you  say?" 

"  You  understood  perfectly." 

He  answered  in  a  hoarse  voice :  "  That  is 
cruel  joking — and  not  funny." 

*  Joking?"  Chiffon  cried  out  in  a  bewildered 
manner;  "  I  love  you  more  than  all  the  world, 
and  there  are  moments  when  it  seems  to  me 
that  you  love  me  more  than  others.  Then 
I  say  to  you,  marry  me  f 

Uncle  Marc  took  the  little  girl  In  his  arms. 

"  My  Chiffon  I  Oh  yes,  I  love  you !  I  love 
you  I  I  love  you  T 

"  Then  do  you  wish  it  much?** 

He  covered  her  with  kisses  without 
•peaking.  < 


230  CbffTon'a 

She  sighed  trembling:  "  Oh!  how  sweet  it 
is  to  be  kissed  by  you  1"  Then  bursting  out 
with  laughter,  "  Do  you  think  they  will  make 
a  face  downstairs  when  they  know  this?" 

Uncle  Marc  looked  at  Chiffon,  hesitating  to 
believe  her  his.  Pressing  his  face  to  hers, 
he  whispered  in  a  kiss: 

"  Ah,  little  Chiffon,  If  you  only  knew  how 
unhappy  I  have  been  1  And  despairing!  and 
jealous  I" 

"  Jealous?    Oh,  that  was  not  necessary  1" 

Throwing  herself  passionately  into  his 
arms,  she  whispered  winningly  and  tenderly : 

"  It  would  be  a  terrible  surprise  to  me  if  I 
could  ever  deceive  you!" 


TBS  END. 


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